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THE LOST 


MODEL. 


/ 


A ROMANCE. 



HENRY HOOPER, 

>« 

AUTHOR OP “wash. BOLTOR, OR THE tXFH OP AN ORATOR." 


PHILADELPHIA 



J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1874. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


DEDICATION. 


TO MY BROTHER. J. T. H., 
THIS BOOK 
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 





CONTENTS 


BOOK I. 

CHAPTER. I. >ACK 

The Waif^Something New 9 

CHAPTER th 

A Model Lettef-wrltet aa 

CHAPTER lit. 

Man has Six Senses * . . 32 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Boshville Gasometet .... t ... 44 

CHAPTER V. 

The Upper Ten amuse Themselves 56 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Doctor rides his Hobby 73 

CHAPTER VII. 

Some People like Magdalens better than Madonnas ... 85 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Sowing the Wind 94 

CHAPTER IX. 

Boshville can afford to keep a Sculptor 106 

CHAPTER X. 

A Man’s Profession is sometimes a Cloak 117 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Doctor celebrates the Day of his Birth 132 

CHAPTER XII. 

Love is still warping the Woof of Human Events .... 147 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Is a Pope greater than God ? 158 

CHAPTER XIV. 

War is not yet Dead 168 

CHAPTER XV. 

“ As you Sow, so shall you Reap” 179 


5 


6 


CONTENTS, 


BOOK II. 

CHAPTER I. 

The Doctor has the Last Word .... 



PAOE 

. 19s 

CHAPTER 11. 

Order among the Dead 



. 205 

CHAPTER III. 

A City with Artists and Two Art Critics . . . 

• 


. 218 

CHAPTER IV. 

A New Work of Art, and an Old Work of Love . 



. 230 

CHAPTER V. 

Honor and Empty Pockets 



. 244 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Day of Equality in Boshville .... 



. 256 

CHAPTER VII. 

Renata pays her Tribute ...... 




CHAPTER VIII. 

Mr. Maple is more successful in Peace than in War 



. 277 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Scales of Justice held by the Beam . 



. 288 

CHAPTER X. 

The Doctor selects a Son-in-law .... 



. 312 

CHAPTER XL 

A Modem Memnon 




CHAPTER XII. 

After Victory come the Laurels .... 



• 331 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Price of an Indian 



• 342 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Foundation for a New House and a Marriage is laid 


. 353 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Promise kept and broken .... 



. 366 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Five Years after 



• 379 


i 


BOOK I. 


Sehr zu beneiden ist Niemand, 

Sehr zu beklagen Unzaehlige !” 

Schopenhauer. 








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THE LOST MODEL. 


BOOK I. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE WAIF — SOMETHING NEW. 

The city was still slumbering in silence, — I mean Bosh- 
ville. The sun had just broken its first arrow upon the 
darkness, which hung over the reclining town, and folded 
it like Sancho in his cloak. A narrow lance of light shot 
up above the eastern hills, and gradually the shapeless 
mass of houses arranged themselves into streets at right 
angles with each other; the large court-house, town -hall, 
theatre, and numerous high-steepled churches came forth 
from chaos, and the rumbling of a milk-wagon sounded 
like the first yawn of morning. In answer to the light, 
the streets began to murmur, the steamboats upon the 
mighty river to throw up clouds of steam and smoke, the 
iron horse to snort in the depot, until this busy mart of 
men roared with the noise of toil and labor. 

Towards the western or aristocratic portion of the city, 
where fashion forbade early rising, and where a sense of 
quietness lingered long after the other portion of the city 
was immersed in strife, a slim and youthful figure hurried 
rapidly along the broad brick pavements. It was the same 

2 9 


lO 


THE LOST MODEL. 


figure which, for the last hour, had been making its way 
from the broad plain which bounded the western line of 
the city ; and the flat and grassy surface of which at this 
moment was dotted here and there by the black and 
squalid tents of a detachment of Indians on their way to 
visit their white father at Washington, and as a matter of 
course make a new treaty. With rapid, agile steps, the 
young man, for such the figure appeared when you ap- 
proached it, passed along the handsomest street in Bosh- 
ville, and, pausing at a house heavy and sombre in its 
stone front and high, surrounding poplars, slowly pushed 
open the gate, and disappeared behind the plants and 
rose-bushes into the house. The noise of the creaking 
gate aroused a large Newfoundland dog, who was sleeping 
upon one of the front grass-plats, — but he seemed as 
blind to the figure that passed him as Lady Macbeth to 
the ghost of Banquo. There was one pair of eyes, how- 
ever, which saw the figure, and they belonged to Robert 
Dangle, chief of the Boshville police force. 

The worthy chief was just making an early round of the 
different beats, to ascertain if his subordinates were attend- 
ing to their duties. For a better view of the field he had 
stepped into a doorway, when his attention was entirely 
absorbed by the figure which entered and disappeared in 
the house opposite. He crossed the street to reconnoitre, 
muttering, “So there’s that fellow again.” As he pushed 
open the gate to enter, the dog, who saw him plainly 
enough, interposed with a low, angry growl, which made 
the man step back and slowly move away. At the corner 
of the street he met a couple of policemen, who greeted 
him with, “ How are you, chief? what brings you out?” 

“ I just passed George Leslie’s house, and saw that slim 
fellow go stealthily in; where has he been at this time in 
the morning?” 


THE WAIF—SOMETHING NEW. 


II 


Who, he? I seen him the other night out at the 
camp on the creek, with the Injuns. I guess he sleeps out 
on the prairie at nights, as we alius s^e him come home in 
the morning.” 

‘‘ Leastwise, when it is fine,” added the other. 

“ What time is it ?” 

The cathedral clock, as if in answer, struck five times. 

^‘Five o’clock,” said the chief. “Well, go on your 
rounds; this morning I calls upon George Leslie, and 
finds out who this fellow is, and what he is after.” 

Mr. Dangle kept his word, for three hours later he 
presented himself at the door of Mr. Leslie’s residence, 
and as the dog was eating his breakfast in the kitchen, and 
the girl was cleaning the front door step, he met with a 
better reception. He was invited into the parlor until 
the proprietor had finished dressing; he walked in and 
threw himself upon the green silk sofa, as though elegance 
was no rarity to him. He paid little attention to the 
costly furniture which surrounded him, nor would the 
rosewood etagere have attracted his attention, but among 
the many curiosities covering its shelves he espied a 
heavy, stone tobacco-pipe, which was evidently of Indian 
manufacture ; and he was still busy examining it, when 
the door opened and Mr. Leslie appeared. 

Mr. Leslie was tall, thin, but well built ; his hair was 
quite gray, his face wrinkled, and the lips thin and com- 
pressed. There was intelligence in the high forehead, but 
the square jaws and insolent gleam in the eyes made you 
mistrust it. Mr. Leslie was a Southerner, and for nearly 
twenty years a government agent among the Western 
tribes of Indians. 

He gave one finger to the outstretched hand of Mr. 
Dangle, and said, familiarly, “How do you do. Bob? 
Anybody broke out of jail?” 


12 


THE LOST MODEL. 


*‘Not as I knows of, — it wouldn’t, however, be a 
difficult job.” 

Well, what’s the.matter? Sit down and let us have it.” 

“Why,” said the chief, “as you and I are pretty old 
cronies, George, I thought I’d come and ask you who 
this fellow is you have in your house. I seed him come in 
this morning at about five o’clock, and I could not make 
out, as he isn’t a fireman or a policeman, or a doctor, for 
that matter, what takes him out them hours.” 

“Oh, you are speaking of Parthee, as Bear-cloud calls 
him. Well, Bob, he is all right. He hasn’t carried off any- 
body’s daughter, I hope, has he?” 

“ No,” said the other, somewhat surlily; “ but he don’t 
act right. What does he want every night with those 
nigger Injuns camped out on the other side of the creek? 
Now, George, I warn you to look out ; there is something 
wrong about that fellow. I jest warn you, — of course you 
can do as you please ; but I wouldn’t have a fellow like 
that about my house, y&u bet. ’ ’ 

As he finished, the door opened and the subject of his 
remarks entered. He held in one hand a newspaper, and 
in the other a bouquet of flowers ; he gave the paper to 
Mr. Leslie, and the flowers he placed in a glass vase upon 
the piano. As he passed, Mr. Dangle got up, and, stand- 
ing with his back to the light, scrutinized the young man 
with great earnestness. 

Parthee, as Mr. Leslie called him, was of medium height, 
slim, but very gracefully proportioned ; the head small, 
the nose high and slightly curved, his hair, eyebrows, and 
eyes of the deepest black, while the characteristic expression 
of his face was one of thoughtful repose. There were many 
handsomer faces than his, eyes with more fire and smiles 
with more warmth, but few which would so suddenly and 
continuously interest you. 


THE WAIF—SOMETHING NEW. 


13 


“ I wish you would take one of those tea-roses, sonie time 
this morning, around to Dr. Knappe, will you?” said Mr. 
Leslie, “ and tell the doctor that I picked it out for him.” 

The figure nodded and withdrew. 

“I guess there ain’t much harm in that fellow. Bob,” 
said Mr. Leslie, when the door closed again. 

“Perhaps there ain’t ; but where did you pick him up, 
and what is he doing here?” 

“ Where I picked him up? That, Bob, is a very pretty* 
story. Did you never hear it? Well, I’ll tell it you.” 

At this juncture the door again opened, and in bounced 
a young lady in a silk gown with a great many pink rib- 
bons about it, and her fingers glittering with rings ; she 
bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Leslie, except that her 
nose had a very impertinent bend at the bottom. With 
a passing nod at the chief of police, she turned to her 
father, and in one breath said, “ Pa, good-morning, your 
breakfast is ready and you must come in right away, — and 
I wish you would tell Parthee to go for my bonnet ; he 
never minds me. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Dangle (with a 
simper), I did not see you.” 

“Your bonnet? Hang your bonnet ! Fetch it yourself 
if you want it; and if you don’t want it, let it alone. 
Now go away. None of your airs; don’t make me mad 
before breakfast.” 

The girl tossed back her head, bounced out of the room, 
and closed the door with a bang which made the windows 
rattle. 

“ Confound them ! they have not got a bit of sense, and 
I have wasted more money on their education than would 
build a hospital for the sick. Did you ever see anything 
like it. Bob?” asked Leslie, with a glance of wrath at the 
door. 

“ Oh, they are all alike,” replied the chief, with a sigh. 

2* 


14 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“Tve got ’em at home, too. Never mind that girl; go on 
with your story. I’ve got some of that kind at home : 
three of ’em, — high strung and saucy as the deuce.” 

“Well, come in the dining-room, and while I eat my 
breakfast I will tell it you. Come along. Bob.” 

The pair rose and passed into an adjoining room, where 
breakfast was laid for one, at the end of a very large dining- 
table ; and at the side sat the young lady whose exit and 
-entrance had been so sudden in the parlor. She was 
pouring out a cup of coffee, and arranging the plates for 
her father. 

“What have you got, Sallie?” 

“Why, there are eggs, corn-bread, and coffee; what 
you always have,” answered the girl, without looking up 
at him. “Will Mr. Dangle have any, pa?” 

“Suppose you ask him,” said Mr. Leslie, smoothing 
and spreading the napkin over his lap. 

“No, thankee. Miss Sallie. I’ve eaten onst this 
morning. I guess I can get along till dinner-time.” 

“ There, give me the pepper. Tell the girl I’ll want 
another piece of corn-bread presently, and then we won’t 
need you here. You can go and fetch that bonnet of 
yours,” said Mr. Leslie. 

The girl rose, and swept majestically out of the room. 

“So, Bob, did you never hear of my last visit to the 
Camanches with Colonel Douglas, the Texas ranger, and 
the escape we had from a party of Kansas Indians in our 
return ?” 

“I? No. Never heard of the Indians dropping on 
you, — heard of your duel with Mullet, — thought you knew 
every Injun from Sacramento to Saint Louis. But what 
has this to do with that fellow Parthee, as you call 
him?” 

“A good deal; it is the nub of the story. Now 


THE WAIF—SOMETHING NEW. 


15 


listen. You know I was for years the Indian agent 
stationed at Fort Blair. Well, some time before the 
commencement of my story I had purchased an interest 
in a silver mine a few miles from Sonora. Colonel Doug- 
las also had some shares. We — Douglas, a Mexican mule- 
driver, I, a team of mules and a wagon — were returning 
from a visit to the mine; and were about two days’ travel 
from the fort. The weather was intensely hot, but we 
had got upon a little range of hills that day, and were 
just taking an after-dinner smoke under as pretty a clump 
of trees as you could find anywhere in that country. The 
mules were browsing off a little dry brush-wood, — for 
grass there was none, — the driver was lying under the 
wagon asleep, and Douglas and I had just commenced a 
game of euchre. When suddenly a shadow fell over my 
cards. Douglas leapt to his feet, ran to the wagon. I 
looked up, and a big Injun in war-paint and buckskin 
looked down upon me. When I scrambled to my feet, 
Douglas had his rifle and was cocking it. I told him 
not to shoot, but to let me talk a little, and I turned and 
faced the fellow. I then saw that about ten feet behind 
him stood another Injun, and behind him another ; in 
fact, there were at least twenty of ’em. I tell you, Bob, 
I was pretty badly scared ; but I put on a stiff upper lip, 
and was as cool as a cucumber. 

He was a big-limbed fellow, of a tribe I did not recog- 
nize, long as I had been agent among them ; he wore a 
string of bear’s teeth around his neck, and with his red 
paint, feathers, and Injun fixings, he was about as pretty 
a looking cut-throat as a fellow could meet anywhere. 
Suddenly and without a word being spoken they formed 
a complete circle about us, and then stood still like a 
circle of stone pillars. 

“I offered the chief my hand, which he refused to take. 


i6 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I then commenced the palaver in Spanish ; told him who 
we were, and that his party must not molest us. 

He asked if we had been hunting. 

‘‘ I told him no ; and told him further, that he need not 
commence a quarrel with us, for if we were robbed or 
murdered the United States troops would exterminate the 
whole tribe. 

“ In reply to this, he leaned forward, took hold of the 
end of my cravat, jerked it off, and wrapped it around 
his own neck. My right hand was on my knife in my 
belt, and where I stood I could have cut him in two ; but 
I kept still. 

“I told Douglas we would let them take everything but 
our weapons, and rather than give them up we would 
fight the whole troop. I noticed there was not a fire-arm 
among the whole party, and in close quarters our re- 
volvers were more than a match for anything they carried. 
I had scarcely said so when one fellow seized Doug’s rifle 
and tried to pull it out of his hands. I told the chief we 
would fight rather than give up our fire-arms ; he saw that ht 
would lose four or five of his men, and he made the fellow 
desist. Then they commenced plundering. They stripped 
the mule-driver as naked as he was born. They carried 
off the mules, the best part of our provisions, and then 
they closed around Douglas and me. One fellow took 
Douglas’s breeches, and tried to put them on himself ; he 
put his leg through one, and the other one he tied around 
his waist. They finally left Douglas almost as bare as a 
Mexican dog. 

‘‘My turn came next, and the chief did the principal 
honors of taking off my clothes. My red shirt had taken 
his fancy, and in his impatience to get it he had pulled 
me several times around the ring. The sun was very hot ; 
my patience was gone. Without a word I gripped my 


THE WAIF— SOMETHING NEW. 


17 


bowie-knife with the intent to give it him full in the 
breast ; when he’ suddenly paused, pointed his finger in 
the distance, and made the usual exclamation of astonish- 
ment. 

I looked ground ; the red devils were hiding behind my 
wagon, and sending their arrows at the figure of a white 
man, dressed like an Indian, who came rapidly towards 
us. As he passed the tail of the wagon, one of the red 
men sprang out, armed with a hatchet, and aimed a deadly 
blow at the intruder. I shut my eyes at the coming 
murder ; but when I looked again, hatchet and Indian 
were on the ground, and the white fellow stood at my 
side. 

** Now, Bob, remember I am not drawing bills upon my 
imagination, but upon my memory. I saw these things 
with my own eyes, consequently I know whereof I speak.” 

‘‘Where did the fellow come from?” asked Dangle, 
“and what language did he speak?” 

“ Hold your horses now. Bob, and let me tell the story 
rhy way. Here, What-d’ye-call-em, give me a light for 
my cigar, and fetch my boots down for me.” This was 
addressed to the servant. 

“Well, where was I? Oh, now listen. The young 
man — I called him Bearskin, for I noticed he had one 
slung around his loins — spoke a few words to the chief ; 
amicably, I judge, from the tone of his voice, but as it was 
in Choctaw' or some other Indian tongue, it was Greek 
to me. The chief eyes him with a good deal of mistrust, 
but at that instant a big brave came up behind him, and, 
shortening his arm, aimed a blow at Bearskin with some 
kind of a knife. Well, I declare to God I don’t know 
how it was done, but in an instant knife and Injun was 
thrown to the ground like you w'ould knock a nigger off 
a fence.” And the excited narrator struck the table with 


i8 


* THE LOST MODEL. 


‘his fist so that the cups and saucers fairly danced upon the 
teaboard. 

He suddenly tripped him,” said the chief of police ; 
it is easily done. I once threw- a fellow, Mellon, the 
counterfeiter, that I came near breaking his neck before 
he knew it. He tried to get out of the cars and escape, 
and I suddenly brought him on his back in the neatest 
style you ever saw.” 

Oh, I understand all that. Bob ; I am not slow my- 
self in a thing of that kind. But this was done — well, if 
I knew how, it would be no mystery ; but precisely be- 
cause I didn’t, why, it scared us all, white man as well as 
Injun. I don’t believe in ghosts nor magic, nor anything 
of that kind, but if there was not something above what 
human nature could do in it, then my name is not Leslie, 
that is all about that. Well, to cut a long story short, 
there was a palaver between our young Bearskin and the 
chief, which ended finally in their leaving us. I got most 
of my clothes back, and so did Douglas ; but there were 
too many buttons on the mule-driver’s clothes, — the In- 
dians would not give them up ; and he came back to the 
fort with us with only a pair of drawers on. I tell you, 
that in tw-o minutes from the time young Bearskin made 
his appearance there was not a cussed Injun in sight. 
Our surprise at the event, and at the queer turn things 
had taken, had so completely unnerved me, that I sat 
down and glared like an idiot at our deliverer. Douglas 
recovered first, and asked young Bearskin who he was, 
where he came from, and what his name was. All we 
could get out of him was, ‘ Me ’Injun, too ; big Injun, — 
chief, big chief!’ 

“I remember as though it was yesterday, we turned 
back to Fort Blair, as we had lost our mules; and 
young Bearskin went along. We camped that night 


THE WAIF— SOMETHING NEW. 


19 


about five miles from the fort, as we were too tired to go 
the whole distance. He took supper with us, — that is, 
he ate some deer meat that Douglas had killed, and at 
night he laid down with me inside the wagon, whHe 
Douglas slept underneath. At daylight, the colonel woke 
me up, but Bearskin was gone. Douglas insisted we 
should wait for him, and he and the mule-driver pros- 
pected for him ; but they came back at noon, and said 
they could find no trace of him. Of course at the fort, 
when we told the story, we only got laughed at for our 
pains. They thought it was simply a yarn to cover the 
loss of our mules, — which so interested Douglas, that he 
started out with a dozen troopers, and in a few days over- 
took a body of Apaches, who had been robbing the 
overland travelers. A fight ensued, and poor Douglas 
was killed, so that P never found out if our deliverer was 
among them. Well, sir, you know that when my wife 
died I gave up my commission and came back to Bosh- 
ville, having had my share of the Indian troubles. You 
remember George, — my oldest son, George?” The 
speaker’s face flushed as he asked this question, and the 
veins of his forehead swelled with the sudden passion. 
“God, how that boy has tortured me! I gave him 
everything. When I found he was too wild for school, I 
took him along with me out West, — taught him to shoot, 
ride, and hunt like an Indian. But he left me when he 
was nineteen, and joined a roving band of vagabonds, 
who went plundering through Mexico and California. 
There was no mad, crazy, desperate expedition but he 
made one of the party. I declare to God I lived in 
daily expectation of hearing he had been hung as a pirate 
or shot in some brothel. Oh, it was too bad ! Finally, 
here in Boshville, two years after my return, one morning 
he walked in, placed his rifle behind the door, held out 


20 


THE LOST MODEL. 


his hand to me as though nothing had happened, and 
asked where his mother was. I was too glad to scold or 
quarrel, for though he was as brown as a nigger, and had 
the same dark impudent look on his face he used to have 
when we would have a rovy together, still. Bob, he was as 
handsome as a picture, brave as a lion, cool as an Indian, 
and as generous as though he carried a mine of gold in 
his pocket. He nettled me, though, constantly asking for 
his mother, and not seeming to care for anybody else ; 
but I swallowed all that in my delight at his return, and 
for a week. Bob, we were as happy as the days were long. 
Well, to come to the part which you want to hear, whom 
does he bring with him but our former friend Bearskin, 
dressed in buckskin, like a regular ranger. 

‘ Where did you find this boy, George ?’ said I to him ; 
‘and what is his name? for he and I are old chums.’ 

“ George laughed in his quiet way, and replied, ‘ You 
have asked a very difficult question. We call him Parthee, 
and we found him not long ago in Mexico. We took a 
great fancy to each other, and I thought I would bring 
him along, as it is a pity he should waste his life in the 
backwoods. He can do a heap of things. If mother 
was alive, I know she would like him. Keep him here, 
and see if you can make anything out of him. What 
do you say, Parthee, will you stay ?’ 

“The boy said he would, and here he has remained. 
George, as you know, went as a filibuster to Cuba, and 
when he will return the Lord only knows. I keep Parthee, 
however, in the hope that, if not for me, he will some 
day come back and see his old friend.” The speaker 
paused as he said this, and shook his head in a menacing 
manner. 

“ But what can the fellow do ? You don’t intend to give 
him one of your daughters?” 


THE WAIF—SOMETHING NEW. 


21 


Do ? He can do what he pleases. Since he has been 
here he has given the Boshvillians something to talk 
about. He goes every day to old Ferri, the sculptor, 
and helps cut his grave-stones. The old archbishop has 
been trying very hard to convert him. My neighbor’s wife 
does her best every day to flirt with him, and old Dr. 
Knappe carries him around with him as an inarticulate 
genius some way or another related to a Greek statue. 
In the mean time, he fools among my plants, makes me a 
bouquet, and eats as little as possible. He is harmless, 
and, as far as I can tell, — and you know I am pretty sharp. 
Bob, — more innocent than a school-girl. It is true he is 
always hankering after the Indians, and loves to sleep out 
on the prairie ; but so do I, for the matter of that. And 
now you know all about him; don’t interfere with his 
rambles. Now, if you will wait until I light my cigar, I will 
go down-town with you.” 

As the two men sauntered to the gate, and passed out 
into the street, close behind them came a very showily- 
dressed girl, with a red shawl and a white feather in her 
bonnet. As she passed the pair, carrying very delicately 
Jn her hand a paper parcel, the chief of police eyed her 
very critically. 

‘‘That ain’t one of your daughters, is it, Leslie? I 
never saw that one.” 

Leslie, between the puffs of his cigar: “No! that is 
the help, — new girl, — cook or sewing-woman, — some- 
thing of that sort.” 

“Help! I guess she does not help much. She is 
pretty tall in the way of dressing.” 

“ Dress ! Oh, that ain’t anything. I have got a coach- 
man wears two hats to my one. If you was to meet him 
on the street in his Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes you 
would take him for a German banker.” 


22 


THE LOST MODEL. 


They had by this time reached the corner of the street, 
and, with a parting salutation, the two men separated, — 
one to the police court and the other to the Boshville 
’change. 


CHAPTER II. 

A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. 

Now, Renata, leave your pottering, and come and 
do what I want you. All this blessed day you have had 
to arrange and fuss with the furniture, and it is time you 
quit it. You must come and help me with that letter to 
Burgmiller, or I shall never get it off.” 

‘C\ch, papa, what for? So much letter-writing! You 
surely do not want to buy any more pictures. The house 
is full with the trash.” 

“Now commence a row, will you? Am I to have no 
peace in this house ? Must I work like a slave or a dog 
all day, and at night be badgered until I am crazy? I 
never saw such a thing. I am no sooner out of one 
trouble than I am beset with another. All day my 
patients, and at night, a fool of a daughter 1” 

“ Now, papa, be just ! whal trouble have you had this 
yday? All the morning you ride around in your buggy 
and visit your patients. Then you come home and take 
your dinner. And this afternoon, when you ought to be 
home writing the letter, you fool away your time at the 
picture-gallery ; and now, when you ought to be thinking 
about bed, you must write to Burgmiller.” 

“ My God, hear that ! Here I am slaving all day, and 
at night the devil is loose in the house.” 


A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. 


23 


Here the door-bell rang, and the last speaker hurried out 
to answer it ; and while he is gone we will introduce the 
reader to the disputants. The male personage was Conrad 
Knappe, M.D., and the other speaker his daughter Renata, 
or, more familiarly termed, Renchen. The doctor was a 
Prussian by birth, but American by adoption. He had 
lived in Boshville almost continuously for the last thirty 
years, and was consequently ranked among the oldest inhab- 
itants, — Boshville being not over fifty or sixty years old. 
He was a little above the medium height, with blue eyes, a 
receding, broad forehead, and a mouth more indicative of 
firmness than refinement. The upper part of the face was 
noble, the lower part coarse, bordering upon the vulgar. 
The same anomaly occurred in his figure : the head was 
fine, and the chest broad ; but the arms and lower limbs 
were disproportioned. His most intimate friend compared 
him to the statue spoken of in the Bible, — the upper part 
of gold and the lower formed of clay. 

The daughter, Renchen, was small of stature, with blue 
eyes, light hair, features of exquisite regularity, and a 
complexion of such dazzling pink and white as is to be 
found only in Northern Germany. Her long, luxuriant 
hair was bound in plaits around her head, like a wreath ; 
and the full, pouting lips and rounded cheeks spoke of 
health as well as beauty. When she spoke about some- 
thing which pleased her, there was a peculiar radiance in 
her face, a mixture of simplicity, good nature, and rever- 
ence, that was quite fascinating to the beholder. Like 
her father, Renchen had rather an awkward movement 
when she walked, or, as her father bluntly expressed it, 
she waddled like a duck. The doctor’s household at this 
time consisted of Renchen, her brother Caspar, the doctor, 
and an old servant, who had been in his house ever since 
he married. The doctor had lost his wife some six years 


24 


THE LOST MODEL. 


ago, the last time the cholera visited Boshville, which it 
was in the habit of doing every eight or ten years. “ She 
died,” the doctor used to say, because she had no sense; 
she would not take the only remedy in such a case, viz., 
calomel and ice.” 

The doctor, when he returned into the room, brought 
with him Parthee, the subject of the preceding chapter, 
holding in his hand a little cluster of roses. 

‘‘You see, doctor,” said his visitor, with a strong for- 
eign accent upon every word, “Mr. Leslie sent them to 
you this morning ; but when I came to the door I saw you 
ride away in your carriage, and so I bring them this 
evening.” 

“Well, they are very beautiful, and when you go back 
thank Mr. Leslie for his kindness in sending them.” 

“Yes,” said Parthee, “the bush makes them; I will 
bring you a bush.” 

“Here, Renchen, take the roses and give the young 
gentleman a chair, and don’t stand gaping at him.” 

The young lady blushed, but never moved ; and the 
doctor took the flowers and placed them in a tumbler of 
water near his inkstand. 

“ So you are the young man that Mr. Leslie met on the 
plains. Do you remember that a year ago I took you 
round, introduced you to the bishop, and to Ferri, where 
you now go so often? You promised me that you would 
come and see my pictures, but you have not kept your 
word.” 

“I would not scold him for not coming, papa; if he 
does not like us, why should he come to see us?” said 
Renchen. And the blue eyes looked very firmly at 
Parthee. 

“I have been here a good many times; but in the 
mornings you visit the people who lie at home in bed, in 


A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. ' 


25 


the afternoon the people with sore bodies visit you, and 
at night you talk with painters and fiddlers. When shall 
I come ? You are always so busy.” 

“ Busy ! You are right, after all. I am busy, — I have 
not a moment to myself.” 

Everybody here is busy. No one has time. Where 
does the time go to ? for I never meet anybody that has 
any time.” 

The doctor placed his head on one side, like a bird 
about to sing, and contemplated the young man for a 
moment in silent admiration. 

“Do you know, Parthee, that you are speaking the 
gospel truth? There never was such an infernal world for 
drive, hurry, and mad confusion.- Now, when I look at 
your thoughtful, earnest face, and compare it with the 
eager, hatchet faces that one is surrounded with, I am 
astonished at the comparison. Everything and everybody 
is diseased with excitement. When I pass down the 
street and meet the stream of people rushing past me, it 
seems as though at each end of the street there was a huge 
cleaver or axe, which chopped and chopped at the poor 
devils, and they got that eager look by trying to dodge 
the infernal blade.” 

“Oh, papa, you exaggerate ! Surely it is much better 
to walk and work with energy than to dawdle one’s life 
away. In Germany everybody wants ruhe, ruhe (rest), 
and the only place they seem to find it is in the church- 
yard, for there every grave-stone says, ‘ Hier ruhet ’ 

(Here rests )” 

This unexpected attack cut the thread of the doctor’s 
grumbling, and he looked as though he was puzzled how 
to commence. 

“ So you came this morning just as I had gone. Well, 
now, let me see ; it is almost too late to show you my col- 

3 * 


26 


THE LOST MODEL. 


lection, as it is very numerous ; but if you will fix any 
evening this week, I will go over it with pleasure', — with 
great pleasure. It will interest you very much, because 
Ferri, the sculptor, tells me that you have a great deal of 
genius for modeling figures. My collection of prints, 
etchings, aquarelles, and engravings,” added the doctor, 
throwing his head back and looking over his guest’s head, 
is, though I say it myself, very complete ; it commences 
with — well, with Waterloo, Beham, and so forth, and 
comes right down to — to ” 

‘‘ Burgmiller’s,” said Renchen, with a little impatience. 

“Where is it? Where do you keep it?” said his guest, 
turning his eyes slowly around the room. 

“Here,” said the doctor, pointing to a huge, square- 
looking box, with folding doors, where, upon shelves, 
were lying about twenty large leather portfolios. 

“ Good, I will come ! Come whenever you want me. 
I have plenty of time.” And he held out his hand, first 
to the doctor and afterwards to Miss Renata, who took it 
as though she was afraid of him. The doctor went with 
him to the door, and watched his slim figure as it disap- 
peared in the darkness. 

“He is a nice, modest, intelligent fellow,” said the 
doctor, when he came back; “he has a face I like to 
lopk at.” 

“ Er thut mir weh,” said Renata. “I am really afraid 
of him.” 

“Nonsense, my child! don’t talk like a sheeps-head ; 
you don’t know what you like. Come, bring up your 
chair, and let us commence Burgmiller’s letter, or it will 
be midnight before we get at it. Now, where are my 
notes ? Get your paper ready, while I run over them for 
a minute.” 

The girl sat down at the table, opened the letter-paper 


A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. 


27 


in front of her, and, while waiting for the doctor to com- 
mence, played with the roses which Parthee had brought. 
The doctor had opened his mouth to dictate the first 
sentence, when in came a bright-looking boy of about 
sixteen, bearing a strong resemblance to Renata, except 
that the face wanted the good-natured, child-like smile 
which hers usually bore. 

‘‘Good-evening, father and schwesterchen.” And he 
threw his cap unceremoniously into the corner of the 
room. 

“Sit down, Caspar, and don’t make a noise; I am 
writing a very important letter.” 

The boy exchanged a significant glance with his sister, 
and, stooping down beside her, whispered, “Are we writ- 
ing fiddle-faddle for the mighty Burgmiller?” 

“Yes; and if you were generous you would write it, 
and let me go to bed.” 

“ Could not do it for money. The last time I wrote 
he said I greased the paper with my hand, and he got so 
angry he threw a volume of Nagler — think of it ! Nagler 
— at my head. He swore I should never write another 
letter for him.” And both laughed heartily at the severity 
of the punishment. “ But, Renata, take a man’s advice : 
write everything he says, word for word. The more non- 
sense, the longer the letter ; and the longer the letter, of 
course the better it is.” 

“Ain’t you ashamed, Caspar, to talk that way of your 
papa?” 

“Not a bit. But say! I was out this evening with 
somebody you like. Guess.” 

“ How can I tell ? Miss Leslie?” 

“ Oh, you are a long way off! It was a gentleman, — 
a real, spanking, thorough-bred gentleman, — fresh from 
Heidelberg.” 


28 


THE LOST MODEL. 


The girl’s face was suffused with a blush, which she 
struggled to conceal, and cried, pettishly, Go away, 
Caspar, and don’t tease me; I don’t know anybody from 
Heidelberg.” 

“What! you don’t know anybody from Heidelberg? 
You haven’t been translating the German phrases in his 
letters to his mother for the past two years ? Oh, no ! 
You don’t go and see his mother every day ? Not you 1 
You didn’t work a pair of slippers for him ? and that ring 
on your finger is not from him ? Of course not !” cried 
the boy, elevating his voice at every sentence. 

The doctor jumped up. “My God I another fight! 
What is the matter now? Must the devil be loose in 
this house all the time? You children will send me 
crazy. My head is hot enough with trouble, without you 
adding to it with your ceaseless gabble. ’V 

“ Father,” said the boy, “ Hafry Denham is back from 
Europe, and he has got a portfolio for you.” 

“ Has he, my son ? I am glad to hear it. I should not 
be surprised if Burgmiller had sent me some more etch- 
ings and drawings. When did he say he would come?” 

“ To-morrow,” with a nod at the girl. 

“ He is a noble fellow, modest, learned, and obeys his 
parents,” added the doctor, significantly. 

“And handsome, too; ain’t he, sister? Well, I am 
going to bed. Good-night.” And as he went out he 
waved a kiss at his sister. 

The doctor waited until the sound of the boy’s steps 
had died along the hall. 

“ Now, daughter, commence.” (Dictates in German.) 
“ ‘ My very highly respected and greatly esteemed friend,’ 
— have you got that ? So ! — ‘ your last poetically con- 
ceived and beautifully described letter charmed and de- 
lighted me. What a pleasure to be daily among, and to 


A MODEL LETTER -WRITER. 


29 

be in familiar communion with, the great and wealthy 
nobles of your court! Here, in this democratic land, 
where one man is as good as another, where the sole aim 
of life is in the arduous and neVer-tiring pursuit and chase 
of money, where the great and small spend their lives in 
a struggle for the material wants of their existence, — wants 
which arise from ignoble desires, and when satisfied add 
nothing to the real treasures of either the intellect or the 
heart; for what is- ’ ” 

‘‘Lieber Gotti Papa,” broke in the girl, ‘‘don’t 
make the sentence so long; no mortal can understand 
such long rigmarole sentences.” 

The doctor opened his eyes with an air of painful sur- 
prise ; but with a calm voice he inquired, — 

“ Renata, tell me, is this your letter or mine ? Are you 
writing to Professor Burgmiller, or am I?” 

“Of course you are, papa; but when you shut your 
eyes and talk while I write it, you don’t know, you can’t 
see, what dreadfully long things you are saying.” 

“All right, then, we will make it shorter to suit you. 
Now go on and let us see if we can get through the letter 
without a fight over every line. A new sentence. ” (Dic- 
tates.) “You are surrounded with the great men of the 
age, men of letters, poets and painters whose fame is world- 
wide, and whose creations will live forever. See the 
difference in your position and mine. Take this very day, 
for instance. No sooner had I swallowed down my 
breakfast and got ready to make my daily visit to my 
humble lot of patients, living, as they do, in various 
wards of the city, when the door-bell rang, and in was 
brought ’ ” 

“Papa! papa! you are not going to tell that dreary 
story about the man falling off the steeple of the church, 
are you?” asked the astonished scribe. ^ 


30 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Why not? why not? Burgmiller is a poet, he is a 
man of taste, of sentiment, of feeling; such a spectacle 
told in my plain, unpretending way would interest him. 
Now, tell me what is there wrong in it?” 

‘‘Nothing wrong in it; but why trouble yourself to 
write it? Send him the Boshville ‘ Truthteller,’ and he 
can read it in print.” 

The doctor thought the matter over a moment, then, 
apparently convinced, said, — 

“Well, then, close the sentence by telling him that the 
inclosed newspaper contains the event which I was about 
to relate. And while you are doing that I will get out 
his letter, and proceed to answer it categorically.” 

The doctor opened a large square bundle which was 
placed upon an adjoining chair, and upon the pasteboard 
cover of which was written in large letters, 

“FROM PROF. OSCAR NEOPTOLEMUS BURGMILLER.” 

The bundle consisted of letters, carefully folded out 
and numbered, and so voluminous that the letter he was 
about to answer, and which the doctor considered a short 
one, contained over sixty pages. This precious bundle 
was known to all his neighbors, for it was the doctor’s 
constant theme. And as he seldom closed the outside 
shutters of this room, anybody passing at midnight might 
have seen the doctor bent over the precious manuscript, 
reading it aloud to himself for the hundredth time. 

As the doctor turned over and scrutinized- each leaf, 
the girl commenced singing : 


“ Wer nie sein Brod mit thranen asz, 

Wer nie die kummervolleh Naechte,” etc. 


“Ah, what beautiful words!” said the doctor, pausing 


A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. 


31 


in his task, — ^ Who never ate his bread with tears.’ Tell 
me, Renata, does any one in this God-forsaken place 
trouble himself because he never ate his bread with tears? 
No, — money is the only thing we weep over. Ah, here is 
the place where he asks me for my opinion about the 
^ Four Seasons’ which he did for me in water-colors. 
Now, then, are you ready?” (Dictates.) 

‘‘The Four Seasons pleased me very much, in accuracy 
of drawing, in fullness of color, and in purity of style ; 
they are to modern French theatrically-posed and des- 

titute-of-ideas productions, what a Ruysdael is to a 

What is the name of that English dauber? Bless me, I 
know it as well as I know my own name.” 

“Frith?” 

“ No, not so bad as Frith ; besides. Frith is a portrait 
painter, and the one I am thinking about is a landscape 
painter. Don’t, for God’s sake, Renata, make that noise 
with your pen ; it puts me out. By the by, there is a pas- 
sage in one of Burgmiller’s letters where he speaks of 
him. Now hold on one moment, until I find it.” 

He turned the package carefully over, and, taking the 
first letter, commenced reading it out aloud. He passed 
from page to page, calling the girl’s attention here and 
there to a beautiful passage, until finally, not hearing any 
response to his remarks, he looked round, and found her 
sound asleep with her head and arm upon the unfinished 
letter. 

“ I declare to Heaven, she is asleep ! I’ll never get this 
letter done. Here I have had the letter six months, and 
although I struggle and strive, I can’t, somehow or another, 
manage to answer it. Renata! Renchen, my child, go to 
bed.” 

The girl lifted up her head, and, catching hold of the 
pen, asked, “Well, papa, have you found it?” 


32 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“ Found it ! Yes, and much good it will do me now. 
Go to bed, and remember to-morrow afternoon we must, 
we must this letter.” 

The girl rose, kissed him, and as her steps echoed along 
the passage and stairs, the clock struck twelve ; and the 
doctor sat down to an uninterrupted read of his friend 
Burgmiller. 

The policemen who passed the window an hour later, 
finding the window shutters open, looked through and 
saw the doctor, his head sunk towards his chest, in a 
deep sleep, with the letters of Burgmiller still in his lap. 
They closed his shutters with a loud bang, which woke 
him up, and after looking a moment at the window in 
wonder, he took up the letters and went on reading them. 


CHAPTER III. 

• MAN HAS SIX SENSES. 

The next afternoon when the doctor returned to his 
house, about five o’clock, — his usual hour for tea, — he was 
accompanied by a tall, slim young man carrying a port- 
folio under his arm. 

*‘Come in, come in, Mr. Denham,” said the doctor; 
and then turning to the girl who opened the door, Here, 
daughter, is Mr. Denham.” 

That young lady’s bright face gained additional color 
as she looked at the young man and said, timidly, I was 
just thinking, Mr. Denham, of you, and wondering if you 
would come to see your old friends, since you have become 
such a learned man.” 


MAJV HAS SIX SENSES, 


33 


A learned man ?’ ’ said Denham, taking off his hat, and, 
after placing the portfolio carefully on a chair, shaking 
the girl’s hand. “ If I did not know that you do not make 
jokes, or, as you used to say, that you never make ‘ fun 
in this house,’ I should think you were making fun of 
me.” 

‘‘Oh, we know all about you,” said Renata; “your 
mother told us how many diplomas you have got, — and 
how you studied the civil law, and took so many degrees, 
and all that. Don’t we know all about it, papa?” 

The doctor was too busy untying the strings of the 
portfolio and clearing a place on the table to open it upon, 
to heed anything else. 

“Oh, my mother is like the rest, all her geese are 
swans. Did you get my letter from New York, Renata?” 

“ Did you really write me a letter from New York? 
Well, I did not get it, did I, papa? The last one I got 
from you was dated at London. Caspar ! (raising her 
voice) did you get a letter for me?” 

“ A letter?” said the doctor, pausing in his work with 
a perplexed look, — “ yes, there’s a letter. Didn’t I give it 
you a week ago, Renata? No. Then it is in my overcoat 
pocket. You see, I am so troubled with one thing and 
another, I have not the slightest bit of memory. ’ ’ 

Harry Denham was a young man above the medium 
height, with regular features, bright, intelligent eyes, and 
an easy, confident manner. He had just returned from 
Germany, where he had spent two years in studying the 
civil law and modern languages. 

Unlike the average young and wealthy Americans who 
go to Europe to study, he had not allowed the usual se- 
ductions and alluring pleasures of the great capitals of 
Germany and France to turn him aside from his pursuit 
of knowledge. The squareness of his lower jaw indicated 

4 


34 


THE LOST MODEL. 


great firmness of character, and a slight bend in his nose 
was also said by the Boshville Lavaters to proclaim an 
untiring ambition, which was one of the characteristics 
of the Denhams. According to his mother’s account, both 
sides of the family ancestors had distinguished themselves 
for oratory and war, and you stumbled across the Den- 
hams in every page of American history. 

There is the bell for tea,” said the doctor, ^‘and I 
think we had better go in and have that first, and then 
we can look at these beautiful things afterwards. So you 
saw Burgmiller? Now tell me what you thought of him. 
Didn’t he strike you as a man who did not live on this 
sordid earth hunting the contemptible dollar ? Be frank 
now : you found a man who was an artist by the grace of 
God j who was the associate of kings and queens ; who, 
w'hen he walked the streets, people took off their hats in 
reverence to him, eh?” 

Denham smiled. ‘^Not exactly that, doctor. He 
struck me as rather a fine old man, not prepossessing at 
all in his personal appearance, but so honest, earnest, and 
simple-minded, that he won your admiration as a man, 
even if you did not admire him as an artist.” 

**Not admire him as an artist!” echoed the doctor. 

Why, Denham, he is the greatest artist on the earth. In 
color he is a Titian, in drawing a Ruysdael, and in soul 
a Raphael.” 

“ Supper is ready, gentlemen ; the bell is tired of ring- 
ing for you, you must come in immediately,” said 
Caspar, entering and interrupting the doctor. 

‘‘Well, go in, Denham, go in, and I will be with you 
in one moment, when I have washed my hands.” 

As they entered the dining-room. Miss Renata hastily 
folded up a letter, put it in her pocket, and seated herself 
at the head of the table. 


MAN HAS SIX SENSES. 


35 


Mr. Denham, you may sit by me, and, Caspar, you sit 
on the other side, so that you can help the things. I think 
you write such beautiful English, and after tea you must 
read to me this letter.” 

Caspar burst out laughing. There is a compliment 
for you, Mr. Denham ; you write such beautiful English 
that Renchen cannot read it.” 

You know what I mean, Mr. Denham; you read so 
much better than I, it will be better still when you read 
it.” 

You are right. Miss Renata ; I shall take great pleasure 
in reading it.” 

‘‘What did you say to papa, that he looked so ex- 
cited?” asked Caspar. 

Mr. Denham narrated the doctor’s inquiry about Burg- 
miller, and what he had said in reply. There was a loud 
burst of laughter when they both heard the cool, depre- 
ciating manner in which Mr. Denham had spoken of the 
god Burgmiller. 

The doctor came in, and the four seated themselves at 
the table, and presented rather a remarkable contrast with 
each other. Renata simply clad, with her brown, luxuriant 
hair in braids, and bound around the head like a wreath, 
with a complexion dazzling in its red and white, and a smile 
of irresistible good nature in her face. The doctor, with 
his spectacles on top of his head, his hair in artistic negli- 
gence, his necktie just under his left ear, and his large 
blue eyes rolling over the emotions he tried in vain to 
express. 

Caspar bore some resemblance to his father in the 
upper part of his face, but there the likeness ended. He 
had the usual careworn look of Young America, when not 
engaged in cultivating its private vices. 

“Now, Mr. Denham, help yourself,” said the doctor; 


36 


THE LOST MODEL. 


*'you need not stand on any ceremony with us, we are 
plain people, who eat only ta satisfy their hunger.” 

‘‘How did you like New York?” asked Renata. 
“ When I was there it was a large, beautiful city.” 

“ Large enough, but for beauty not equal to Paris or 
Berlin. The truth is, I am not an admirer of New York. 
There is too much glitter and sham. You are nobody 
unless you have money. The great man is he who is worth 
a million, although he stole it or swindled it out of other 
men’s pockets. They are nearly all Jews. I don’t mean 
what Falstaff calls a ‘Hebrew Jew,’ but Christian Jews, 
which, to my opinion, is the worst kind of Jews.” 

“Do you know the reason of that?” asked the doctor. 
“It is want of reverence and the unnatural system of edu- 
cation. Why, we make fun of certain Indians who flatten 
their children’s heads between boards, and we, who boast 
of being the most enlightened and freest nation on earth, 
have but one aim in educating our children, — that of blow- 
ing out their heads as big as possible. Big heads, big 
heads, is the constant cry, and as for the hearts, why, any 
leathern ventricle which can propel the blood will do. 
There is my neighbor and brother physician. Dr. Knox, 
who has got a boy which God made handsome, but the 
doctor, his wife, and the schoolmaster have made so ugly 
that to me he is worse than the itch. Why, sir, he is not 
twelve years old yet, and he can tell you the price of every 
piece of furniture in my house ; he is so sharp, so know- 
ing, that he never saw anything in his life, be it human 
or inanimate, but that he made fun of it.” 

“Yes, and he tells lies, and is an awful coward,” said 
Caspar. 

“And what are you doing nowadays, Caspar?” asked 
Denham. 

“ Clerking, or rather assistant cashier, at Brown’s.” 


MAN NAS SIX SENSES. 


37 


'^Indeed, I always thought you had a military tend- 
ency. Have you never offered your services to some of 
the recruiting officers?” 

‘‘ He is too proud for that,” said Renata; ‘‘he wants 
to be a general at once.” 

“You’re crazy, Renata, you are,” said Caspar, peev- 
ishly. 

“ Crazy ! Tell me what that word means in German, 
Mr. Denham,” asked Renata; “for Caspar is always call- 
ing me and papa crazy.” 

“ ‘Toll’ is, I believe, the German equivalent.” 

“You will never do for a soldier, Caspar, because you 
are afraid to go to bed in the dark,” said Renata. 

Caspar was about to retort angrily, when the doctor 
raised his voice. “Silence! silence I will you? Let me 
have one meal in peace, if you please.” 

“Father has right,” said Renata, gravely. “You 
always make fusses, Caspar ; and to-day, as we have com- 
pany, you should be good.” 

Denham laughed at the naivete of this speech, while 
the doctor shook his head dubiously at the speaker. 

“lam going to Russia,” said Caspar, “and offer my 
services in the war against the French and English. I 
hate both those nations. Every true German should hate 
a Frenchman, and every American hates an English- 
man.” 

“What has Russia done, that she has your sympathies 
in preference to England?” asked Denham. 

“ Oh, Russia is a great country,” answered the boy. 

“Yes,” said the doctor. “ Caspar, for once you are 
right, Russia is a great nation. Take only one feature of 
it, — twenty or thirty millions of people who call the em- 
jieror their father, who love and reverence him, and would 
give their lives in his defense. Now, on one hand, what 

4 * 


38 


THE LOST MODEL. 


a noble man he must be to have gained the love of so many 
millions of hearts! and, on the other hand, what a mag- 
nanimous, self-sacrificing people to love their king as a 
father, and to be always ready to die for him I I do 
not know what you think of it, but to me it is a grand 
thing.” 

Denham shook his head. “ That would depend upon 
the fact whether the love for the king was the result of 
fear and prejudice, or from knowledge and choice. It 
strikes me their devotion is the devotion of slaves. The 
greater part of the Russian people are in deplorable igno- 
rance. The day of knowledge for the Russians, the day the 
people reach the same step of knowledge and enlighten- 
ment which our people have to-day, will be the last of this 
blind devotion which you are- praising.” 

‘‘Then,” said the doctor, fervently, “may that day 
never come to them ! God preserve them from such a 
day! To me, the Garibaldis, Kossuths, and O’ Flips 
are the lepers of the age. Destroyers of men’s best feel- 
ings. Liberty, indeed ! Can liberty compose a symphony 
like Beethoven’s Eroica, or make a statue like Apollo, or 
a picture like Raphael’s School of Athens ? No, of course 
not. Then what do I care for liberty.” 

“ Why, doctor,” said Denham, laughing, “ if ever you 
go back to Europe, your theory of reverence and divine 
right of kings will receive a severe blow. Why, sir, at 
Berlin a cadet of a military school outranks socially any 
painter, novelist, or poet in the country. And as for 
Russia, she has yet to produce a second-rate painter or 
poet.” 

“ I don’t like the Russians,” broke in Renata. “ When 
mother lived near Koenigsberg, a regiment of Russian 
Cossacks passed through the town, and she says they were 
the ugliest and dirtiest men she ever saw. Caspar, you are 


AfAAr HAS SIX SENSES. 


39 


a goose if you join the Russians ; because you won’t fight, 
and then they will beat you with a stick.” 

At this moment, Katerina, the old housekeeper, who 
still dressed her hair in the same fashion, and on washing- 
days wore the same thick wooden shoes which she did 
twenty years ago in Deutschland, bustled in to say that 
the four musickanten” had come. 

‘‘ Are the musicians here?” said the doctor, — “ that is 
right. We are going to have a quartette to-night, and, 
Denham, you shall hear Beethoven played in a style equal 
to the chamber-concerts in Berlin. Renata, go in and 
talk to them while we get ready.” 

“ Is Franz there, Kate?” asked Renata. 

To be sure ; he is always with the rest.” 

“Then I won’t go in,” said the girl; “I get really 
afraid of him.” 

Here the housekeeper turned towards the doctor, and 
said rapidly, in German, “ Why should she go in and be 
annoyed by that grinning rascal ?” 

“ Whom do you mean ?” asked the doctor. 

“ Why, that rascal Franz, who is always sneaking around 
her.” 

Doctor, with his eyes rolling in amazement : “ My God, 
do you call him a rascal? Why, Kettle, he is the best 
fiddle-player in America. He is an artist, a man who 
carried off the highest prize at the Conservatorium. He 
has played before kings. Do you know that ?” 

“Ach,” said the woman, shrugging her shoulders, “a 
donkey is a donkey, though the king ride upon him 
every day !” 

“ Well,” said the doctor, “ I’ll go in. Denham, when 
you are ready come in also. Renata, leave some tea for 
Redwood, and you and Caspar can come in and hear the 
music.” And out he bustled. 


40 


THE LOST MODEL. 


^^Who is this Mephistopheles of a fiddler?” asked 
Denham. 

Oh, he is somebody father picked up at a concert,” 
said Renata, blushing; ‘‘and he comes here all the time, 
asking for my picture, and — and — and speaks foolishness.” 

“Why, I would kick him out,” said Denham, indig- 
nantly. “ I never heard of such a thing.” 

Renata was delighted at her champion, and she gave 
him her hand with a comic grace and archness, and then 
ran away to help Kettle clear away the supper dishes, 
while Denham slowly followed the doctor. 

As Denham opened the door of the doctor’s art-studio, 
the sound of a violin fell upon his ears. Near the table 
in the centre of the room sat three musicians arranging 
the music on the table and rubbing their bows on the 
rosin ; while in the corner of the room stood the little 
figure of a Jew, below the medium height, with dark hair 
and eyes, and a slim, slight figure. He was dressed with 
scrupulous neatness, and as he posed himself, with his 
violin on his shoulder, his right leg thrown forward, and 
his bow-arm moving in graceful motion, he seemed to 
challenge the admiration of everybody to his little feet, 
his slender waist, his curled hair, and exquisite playing. 
This was Franz, the vainest of men. He was playing the 
Fantasie Caprice of Vieuxtemps. How beautiful, thought 
Denham, he plays! And he sat down and closed his eyes, 
that his enjoyment of the music might not be disturbed 
by seeing that a satyr handled so skillfully the lyre of 
Apollo. 

The doctor, his eyes beaming with delight, said, “Beau- 
tiful I Franz, you play magnificent. Now give us Ade- 
laide.” 

“Oh, doctor, I don’t think I can play Adelaide to- 
night; I am melancholy. I ” 


MAJV HAS SIX SENSES. 


41 


Here the door opened, and Renata entered, followed 
by two persons, whom the doctor greeted with, “Come 
in, come in, Redwood, you are just in time j and, Parthee, 

I am glad to see you. Daughter, give this gentleman a 
chair.” 

The face of Franz brightened up as the girl entered, and, 
making her a very deep bow, he said, “ The Herr Doctor 
asked me to play for him Adelaide, and I tell him I have 
no fantasy, no nerve, for that piece ; but now you come, I 
can play it. You shall now hear, for the first time in 
your life, Adelaide, the Adelaide of Beethoven.” 

The girl never looked at him, but, taking the arm of 
Redwood, drew him to where Denham was, and there sat 
down resolutely between Redwood and Denham. “ I am 
glad to see you back to Boshville,” said Redwood to 
Denham, in a voice which had a singular musical accent 
and penetrating power. ‘ ^ Miss Renata here was so anxious 
I should see you, that she has prevented me from eating 
my supper.” 

“Now, Redwood, listen,” said the doctor, “and see 
if he don’t play like the devil.” 

With a leer at Renata, which particularly annoyed 
Denham, the musician led off, and played the theme with 
such a plaintive, passionate eloquence, and such well-sus- 
tained equality and fullness of tone and feeling, that the 
listeners applauded vigorously the musician when he 
finished. 

“Redwood, you are right,” cried the doctor; “ music 
is the sixth sense, and, what’s more, the noblest of the 
six.” 

“What does that mean?” asked Denham. 

“Why,” said the doctor, “Redwood insists that the * 
normal man of a noble type has six senses : the sixth one 
being the sense of music ; and it is as true as the gospel.” 


42 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“I wish, doctor,” said Redwood, quietly, ^^you would 
learn to introduce your guests ; you let that young man 
stand there like an undertaker at a funeral.” 

** That is a fact,” said the doctor. And he introduced 
Redwood to Parthee, who 'all this time had stood unob- 
served in the corner of the room ; and the two men sat 
down on the sofa together. 

“What do you say his name is?” asked Denham, of 
the pretty blue eyes which looked up at him. 

“Oh, never mind him,” said Renata, and she reso- 
lutely turned her head in a different direction. “ Do you 
know I hate a squeaking, screaming, scratching fiddle ! 
There is some sense in a cello or in the human voice, but 
in that little wooden box there is neither sense nor music.” 

Franz, unheeding the scornful glances which Renata 
occasionally shot at him, sat down at the table, and, after 
taking a consolatory pinch of snuff, commenced with the 
others a quartette of Beethoven. 

“There,” said the doctor, nodding his head to the 
time, “ notice what a beautiful conversation is now going 
on. First the violin leads off with the theme, the alto an- 
swers it ; then the second violin responds, and finally the 
base comes grandly in and binds the harmony together.” 

“I love to look at papa when he hears music,” said 
Renata; “ he forgets all his troubles, he even forgets Burg- 
miller and the unfinished letter.” 

“How do you like that violin, Franz?” asked the 
doctor, when there was a pause in the playing. 

“ Oh, it is a pretty good fiddle. It is new, quite new.” 

“I’m glad you like it. Redwood, you remember when 
I bought it. I tell you I was the happiest man in Bosh- 
ville.” 

“Happier than on your wedding-day, doctor?” asked 
Franz. 


MAJV HAS SIX SENSES. 


43 


No sensible man is happy on his wedding-day,” said 
the doctor, “because ” 

Here a pf^esto movement of the quartette, which swept 
through the room like a hurricane, and made the air throb 
with the rapid rhythm, drowned the doctor’s voice, and 
he got up and stood behind Franz’s chair to see how rap- 
idly the little player polished off the long lines of notes, 
no matter how thick they were crowded together on the 
page. 

“ It beats the devil,” muttered the doctor, as he poured 
some wine and handed a glass to Franz, “how you play 
that off at sight. I have been scratching for twenty years, 
and I could not play that if it was an andante movement, 
instead of a presto." 

The doctor’s sixth sense was very largely developed, for 
no sooner was one piece finished than other music was 
brought out, and it was only when the players stopped 
from weariness that the doctor ceased getting out from 
his little cupboard fresh arrangements and quartettes. 

Redwood, who had passed the evening by the side of 
Parthee, now got up, and coming towards the doctor, 
said, gravely, in a low voice, — 

“I tell you, Conrad, he has some pretty ideas in his 
head, your new friend there. He says that man, of all 
animals, is the most self-loving. To be a poet is to write 
about men and women, to be a painter is to paint them, 
a sculptor to carve the human figure in stone, and a 
musician to put their troubles and joys into sound. Pretty 
good!” And he turned on his heel and slowly left the 
room. 

“ Does Redwood still eat opium?” whispered Denham 
to Miss Renata, as she rose up to see the musicians out. 

She nodded assent, and then, for the first time that even- 
ing, went over to where her father was speaking with Par- 


44 


THE LOST MODEL. 


thee. As the doctor saw them all out, it amused Denham 
to see the grimaces which Franz made at Renata, and the 
resolute manner in which she avoided noticing them. 

As Denham bade them good-night at the door-step, 
the last of the company, and promised the doctor to be 
back another evening at the opening of the portfolio, he 
saw the bright eyes of Renata looking with wonder in the 
direction in which Parthee had gone ; but his own heart 
was too full from the music, the wine, and those same 
sunny glances, to notice anything but his own feelings. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER. 

The next morning the doctor was seated in his office, 
reading slowly the list of patients from his visit-book, 
while his horse, Philip, impatiently at the door gnawed 
the bark off the tree to which he was tied. 

Phil ! Phil !” ejaculated the doctor, as he looked up 
and saw the long white strips on the tree, where the 
horse’s front teeth had torn away the outer rind. “ If that 
was any tree but an ailantus it would be a great pity.” 
And he knocked at the window, to let Phil know that he, 
the doctor, was watching him. He turned to his book 
and soliloquized as he read : 

“ Mrs. Lane, 29 Harriet Street. Yes, I must go there 
this morning, and give her cathartic pills; the woman 
eats too much, — does in fact nothing but eat, drink, and 
sleep. Wells, that poor fellow, will die, — left lung gone. 
Redwood is right, consumption is the curtain which will 


THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER. 


45 


finally drop upon the human race. I do not think his 
theory right, however, that washing the skin with soap, 
and bathing without afterwards oiling the skin, brings it 
on. Simpson ; I wonder what is the matter with that 
fellow. Monday, I thought he had the scarlet fever, 
Tuesday, the smallpox, and to-day, I know no more 
than the dead what is the matter with him. I will let 
him alone for a day or two, and see what Nature will do. 
Phil! Phil! Let that tree alone, sir! Leslie! Leslie! 
that’s a fact. I had forgotten it. He gives a party to- 
night, to welcome Captain George Denham home, on 
leave of absence. Renata is invited. We cannot go 
to-night, because I expect some gentlemen to visit me.” 

Here he rose up, and, going to the foot of the stairs, 
called several times for Renata. 

When that young lady made her appearance, she had 
her head tied up in a white handkerchief, and a broom in 
her hand taller than she was. 

‘‘ You here, papa? Why, I thought that you went out 
an hour ago.” 

“ In looking oVer my list, I see that I made a memoran- 
dum of an invitation to a party at Leslie’s for you and me, 
given, as it appears, to welcome George Denham home.” 

The girl’s face brightened. ^‘That is very kind of 
Miss Leslie. What shall I wear, papa?” 

‘‘Well, don’t bother me about your clothes. What I 
am thinking of is, that I have an engagement this night 
with some gentlemen to show them pictures, and I would 
not like to disappoint them.” 

“You have three hundred and sixty-five nights in the 
year, papa, to show your pictures. You certainly can 
take one night for me.” 

“ Oh, you can go, my child, and take Caspar with 
you.” 


5 


46 


THE LOST MODEL. 


‘‘ No !” was the resolute answer. ‘‘ If I go to the party 
at Mr. Leslie’s, I shall go with my father, and with no 
one else. I know many young ladies do not think as I 
do. Any young man is a fit companion for them, be he 
a rogue or a fool.” 

Provided he is stylishly dressed,” added the doctor, 
nodding approvingly at the sentiment. 

And I can just as well stay at home.” 

‘‘ Well, be it so,” said the doctor, with a sigh of relief. 
“You can assist me in showing these gentlemen my col- 
lection, and in reading Burgmiller’s last letter.” 

There was a glow of indignation upon Renata’s face 
as she cried, “ No, if I cannot go to Mr. Leslie’s, I shall 
not waste my time upon these loafers, who trouble you 
every evening, making your room like a coffee-house. 
And they know as much about pictures as a pig does about 
clouds.” 

“ Why, what has changed you so suddenly ? It is not 
long ago since you declared that Leslie was an old false 
flatterer, and his daughter Sallie an overdressed fool, — 
and all the rest were loafers. For my part, I cannot tell 
where you got that idea, that everybody you do not like 
is a loafer.” 

“ I got that idea from you, papa,” said the girl. 

“From me? When did you get it from me?” 

“ When you do not like a person you call him a loafer ; 
and I can prove it,” said Renata, holding up her finger, 
and then proceeding in a logical manner to prove the 
proposition. “ When that rich young man. Judge 
Boone’s son, who does nothing but wear fine clothes and 
smoke long cigars, wanted to take me to the opera, in a 
handsome carriage, you said, ‘ Renchen, don’t go; that 
young man is a loafer.’ And when that temperance 
lecturer. Green, came here, and everybody went to hear 


the boshville ga some tee. 


47 


him speak, you said the loafer knew nothing. And 
didn’t you, when Mr. Etinge, the artist, wanted to paint 
my portrait for nothing, — ^just for nothing? You would 
not let me go to his studio, because you said he was a 
loafer, and could not paint a sign.” 

At the last sentence the doctor leaped to his feet. 
*‘And wasn’t I right, you little sheeps-head? Did you 
ever see that picture he painted called the ‘Opera-box,’ 
where a woman with the expression of an idiot, as bare 
as a baby, and with the features of an ancient Greek, 
looks at you with the intelligent look of a cow wondering 
where the rain comes from? Would anybody but a loafer 
waste the good colors and canvas in painting such a thing ? 
And didn’t I ” 

There is no knowing to what extremes this discussion 
may have led, for the doctor was getting very excited, and 
his voice rising higher and higher, when the door opened, 
and Redwood entered. 

“ Why, doctor, what is the matter? they can hear you 
bawling over the river.” 

“ Come in. Redwood, come in. I am glad you came. 
You shall decide between us; because you have got some 
sense, and can tell this foolish girl whether I am right or 
not,” said the doctor, taking Redwood by the hand and 
putting him in front of the blushing girl. 

With a great many gesticulations, and a voice rising 
higher in tone and emphasis, the doctor told the dispute 
between himself and his opponent, whom he designated 
as a sheeps-head. It took him nearly ten minutes to tell 
what he said, to read the memorandum he had made in 
his note-book, what he said and thought, and what she 
replied; adding, in sundry parentheses, his views, his 
reasons and counter-reasons, for it all. 

Patiently Redwood heard it all ; and when the doctor 


48 


THE LOST MODEL. 


was through, and before pronouncing judgment, he took 
from a little silver box a small piece of opium, and, placing 
it in his mouth, said, very quietly, but in the same earn- 
est manner,- — 

I think, Conrad, you can very well spare one evening 
for your daughter ; these friends of yours can come 
again some other evening. Besides, these little hands work 
too much, — there is too much scrubbing, dusting, and 
cleaning.” And he patted kindly the little red fingers 
of the girl. ‘^You must let her play as well as work, 
Conrad.” 

The girl’s face lit up triumphantly as she heard this, 
and, running out of the room, her voice was heard call- 
ing, ^‘Kettle, Kettle, I am going to a grand party to- 
night!” 

The doctor, who had been listening with his mouth 
open, said, naively,— 

^‘Do you think she works too much. Redwood? Do 
you really think so?” 

‘^Of course I do. When I go out of a morning she 
is sweeping and bustling on the stairs, at noon she is 
rattling among the dishes, and at night she has to dust 
and fuss in your room. You must not let her drudge 
so much.” 

‘‘Well, you see, I cannot look after everything. But 
I’ll prevent it in the future; and now, which way are 
you going? Step into the buggy, and I will drive you 
down-town.” 

Both, men got into the buggy, and Phil started off at 
a leisurely pace through the wide streets of Boshville. 
Though only February, the spring was struggling to make 
its appearance in the gardens and shade-trees of Bosh- 
ville. For a week heavy rains had fallen, and in response, 
the earth, where not covered with heavy paving-stones 


THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER. 


49 


and bowlders, shot up the green tips of grass ; and the 
black coats of the trees and plants were cracking beneath 
the pressure of the buds. As the men ride along side by 
side, let us in a few words explain Redwood’s position and 
origin. 

Albert Redwood was the only son of what was then 
considered one of the first families in Boshville, — that is 
to say, his grandfather was the pioneer lawyer of the town, 
and the first person elected by the people as Judge of the 
County Court. When he died, he left his sons and 
daughters for heritage nearly a fourth of the city, which 
was increasing daily in value. As usual, the girls married 
worthless men, who drank or ate up in a few years their 
wives’ fortunes; and the sons lived like gentlemen, kept 
a large stable of horses, and a more expensive table, and 
died from apoplexy or delirium tremens, leaving their 
children with a collegiate education, the habits of spend- 
thrifts, and poverty. With the single exception of Red- 
wood, nearly all the other members of the family had 
gone farther West or South, in search of new homes and 
new fortunes ; while he, at thirty-five, found himself in 
Boshville, with a passion for books, a restless desire for 
self-cultivation, a culture much superior to his fellow- 
citizens, and the rent of a couple of old houses for his 
sole support. One of these houses was the one now occu- 
pied by Dr. Knappe, — and between the landlord and 
the tenant a strong intimacy and friendship had sprung 
up, almost from their first meeting ; and Redwood, at the 
doctor’s earnest and repeated requests, lived with them 
now as one of the family. 

Redwood had graduated at one of the Eastern colleges, 
and had spent some three or four years in Europe. When 
thrown upon his own resources in Boshville, he had en- 
deavored to increase his little income by teaching Latin 

5 * 


50 


THE LOST MODEL. 


and French ; and at last, when, disgusted at the drudgery, 
he was about to throw it up and seek his fortune in the 
mud-holes of California, — or rather the mines, — an old 
lady friend, who had been a latent admirer of him for 
years, interested herself in his fortunes and procured him 
a position on the staff of writers of the leading journal of 
Boshville. The proprietor of the Truthteller” was one 
of those active, illiterate, unscrupulous, and bold men, who 
are not only native-born “hammers,’’ but have the gift 
of making “anvils” out of their fellow-citizens. 

Redwood soon became indispensable to Ira Leonard, 
the wealthy proprietor of the Boshville “ Truthteller.” 
The favorite theories of Mr. Leonard on political economy 
and upon all political topics were now given forth with a 
force of diction and a show of learning which gave Mr. 
Leonard an immense influence in the public affairs of the 
West. Politicians were written up and politicians written 
down — demagogues were proclaimed as heroes and other 
demagogues as idiots — in a language as fierce and elegant 
as Junius ; and all this at the nod of Ira Leonard. Leonard 
gathered the facts, — at least such as suited his purpose, — 
these he handed over to Redwood, together with a crude 
theory based upon some scheme of political intrigue. 
Redwood chewed his opium in silence, and turned the 
rude materials into fireworks, caring nothing either for 
the illumination they might give, or who was delighted 
or annoyed by the explosion. 

“For ten hours each day, and sometimes for fifteen 
hours,” he would say to the doctor, “ I put on my harness 
and work and pull like a horse in a saw-mill. I neither 
look right nor left, nor do I care whether the saw cuts 
mahogany or pine, nor whether they make billiard-tables 
or pulpits out of the wood. The thing I love is study, 
reading, thinking on those themes which please me; no 


THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER, 


51 


man in Boshville is rich enough to pay me, or hire me, to 
write on poetry, philosophy, or art : they belong to my 
sanctum, and not the thoroughfare of Boshville. But up 
and down the columns of the Truthteller” I will trot at 
a regular hack pace, be the theme primary elections, 
ward meetings, railroads, telegraphs, stock-boards, fash- 
ions, concerts, or any theme about which the Boshville 
brain is getting addled upon. And at night, I pull off 
my apron, or put down my pen, go home, and for the 
balance of the twenty-four hours I am a free man.” 

As they drove near a large five-story stone building on 
the principal avenue of Boshville, over which was painted 
an immense sign, bearing in huge letters the words, 

Truthteller Office,” the doctor drove close to the 
pavement and stopped ; and, as Redwood got out, he 
said, — 

Come in, Conrad ; come in and see our new gas- 
ometer ; and there is a celebrity inside there that you 
ought to know.” 

The word celebrity aroused the doctor’s curiosity, and 
he immediately got up, tied Phil to an iron post set up 
in the pavement for that purpose, and followed his friend 
into the building, or gasometer. 

If there was one thing the doctor liked almost as well 
as looking at pictures, it was lounging and gossiping about 
the principal places and men in Boshville. It was one of 
the contradictions of his character, that, while he always 
spoke depreciatingly of the tastes and pursuits of his great 
and rich fellow-citizens, he at the same time was neyer 
tired of visiting and talking to them. ‘‘They are an 
ignorant set of money-bags, — mere selfish materialists, — 
with not an idea above a stone-front house and elegant 
furniture,” he was wont to say of them-; and yet he 
could spend hours in their company on the streets or at 


52 


THE LOST MODEL. 


their houses, and forget home, his engagements, and his 
patients even. 

Passing through a large front room with a counter, which 
was covered with files of newspapers, and around the walls 
of which blackboards were nailed, and bulletins and 
newspapers pasted upon them for the benefit of the idlers, 
they passed into the editor’s room, where the proprietor 
sat talking loud and decisively to an old man, upon some 
question apparently of great importance. 

How do you do, doctor?” said Leonard, giving him 
two fingers. Come in, and take a chair. Let me in- 
troduce you to Bela Brown, the father of Amos Brown, 
the President of the United States, sir.” 

“Indeed!” said the doctor, taking off his hat and 
bowing very profoundly to the old gentleman. “It gives 
me great pleasure to see the father of so great a man as 
the President of the United States.” 

“Yes?” said the man, inquiringly. “Oh, my son 
Amos was a pretty good boy, considering all things ; and 
if he don’t do all I want of him now, it is not his fault, 
but them confounded politicians. They pull him this 
way, and then that. Now, you know very well that if I 
had my way Chester Popcorn would not have been post- 
master of this town. You bet 1 I telegraphed Amos to give 
it to John Stokes, one of our fellows ; and if the Senate 
would not confirm him, why, let the Senate be blowed.” 

The old man paused with indignation, and, pulling out 
a small square package of tobacco, wrapped in tin-foil, 
tore off a pretty large piece, and crammed it into his 
mouth. 

The doctor’s eyes were as large as saucers, and his 
mouth partly open, as he stared in astonishment at the 
old man. Leonard and Redwood were in close conver- 
sation over some dispatches, and the latter was rapidly 


THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER. 


53 

noting down some points given him by Leonard for an 
editorial. 

‘‘It is a great and responsible position,” said" the doc- 
tor, solemnly, “to be the chief magistrate of thirty or 
forty millions of people; and I presume, Mr. Brown, 
your son finds it a heavy and unthankful task.” 

“ I guess he don’t mind it,” snuffled the old gentleman; 
“ he takes his own gait, — you can’t turn him aside. It is 
his duty, however, to look after his own family first. The 
newspapers, may say what they please ; but I say it is the 
duty of every man when he is in office to look after his 
family and friends first. For instance, now; I’ve lived in 
this county over fifty years ; I know it to a dot ; can tell 
you who everybody is that is worth naming, I can. Con- 
sequently, when the officers are to be appointed in this 
region by Amos, my selection ought to be followed. Men 
of our party come to me and say, ‘ Bely, So-and-so is one 
of us, — is a good man, and ought to have such a place.’ 
I telegraph or writ^ to Amos, and say, ‘Such a one is 
your man.’ Isn’t all that natural ?” 

“Do the newspapers object to you because you recom- 
mend persons for office to your son?” asked the doctor, 
becoming quite interested. “You will excuse me for 
asking the question ; but, the truth is, I seldom — well, 
perhaps, I had better say I never — read the newspapers.” 

“Object!” said the old man, indignantly. “They not 
only object, but they cuss me like — gracious I Didn’t 
that lying sheet, the ‘People’s Friend,’ say yesterday that 
Chumley gave me a white horse and a thousand dollars 
because I recommended him for assessor ?’ ’ 

“And you did not get any money?” asked the doctor, 
eagerly. 

“ Get money I I took that money for charitable pur- 
poses. Can’t I take money for charitable purposes? 


54 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Suppose I give that money to the poor, don’t you suppose 
it will do ’em good ? I think so !” 

Then you haven’t given it to the poor yet?” pursued 
the doctor, with a tone of disappointment in his voice. 

“Of course I ain’t ; them things take time. You don’t 
cure your patients at sight, I guess. But I came here this 
morning to stir Leonard up, — he must go for them fellows, 
and silence ’em. I will do anything I can for my party, but 
I don’t want all the abuse. I’ll take my share of it ; but, as 
I don’t get all the profits, I don’t intend to stand all the 
losses. Now, here is my reply to the * People’s Friend.’ ” 

The old man took from his pocket a long roll of legal 
cap paper, which was covered with writing, and com- 
menced to read his defense. The doctor looked long and 
critically at the old man in front of him, and, although 
he heard the long string of words, he did npt understand 
them, for his thoughts were flying in another direction. 

As he looked at the burly eyebrows, the long, wrinkled 
nose, the lips stained with tobacco-juice, the black coat 
with its greasy collar, the yellow hands, with long fingers 
and dirty nails, the muddy boots, and the shirt and 
broken suspender which protruded from his vest and pan- 
taloons, he wondered if the son was like the father ; and 
what would become of a country when the rulers looked 
like Bela Brown. 

Leonard here came to the old man, and, pulling him 
unceremoniously in a corner, held a conversation in whis- 
pers. The doctor rose to go, but before he went he took 
a critical look at the gasometer, as Redwood called it. 

In one end of the room, at a desk, a young man was 
seated, busily clipping with a pair of shears, from .a pile 
of newspapers, certain paragraphs, which he pasted to- 
gether ; another was engaged in copying a long writing in 
short-hand, and transposing it into the more readable 


THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER. 


55 


characters. While Leonard listened to the garrulous old 
man, he turned his head, and gave directions to a young 
man with a very pale face to hunt up the particulars of a 
reported suicide ; and as the fire-bell tolled, another per- 
son seized his hat and rushed frantically out with his pen 
in his mouth. Redwood sat at the table and wrote upon 
long slips of paper; and in the room beneath could be 
heard the click, click, of the telegraph and the dull beat 
of the press, which made the building tremble. 

I could not write here to save my life !” muttered the 
doctor. 

Men came in and out, lit their cigars, smoked, talked 
loud, laughed, and drank water out of a large brown 
pitcher. Little boys ran in with slips of paper from the 
telegraph-offices, which Leonard read, and then put them 
in a box, which disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. 
And through all the racket, the scribbling of pens, the 
click of the telegraph and the heavy jolt of the printing- 
press could be heard. 

The doctor felt he was not wanted, and, taking up his 
hat, slowly withdrew. As he was untying the horse, a 
carriage drove up, and quite a handsome, but very deli- 
cate-looking, lady stepped out. She blushed slightly as 
she gave her hand to the doctor, and timidly inquired if 
Mr. Redwood was at the office. The doctor pointed 
through the window to the table where he sat, writing 
away with the regularity of a machine. 

The doctor, as he mounted in his buggy, suddenly re- 
membered a little scandal he once heard, that this lady, 
Mrs. Leonard, was in love with Redwood; but he shook 
his head at the thought, and, giving the reins a jerk, he 
said, quite sharply, ‘‘ Get up, Phil ! get up !” And the 
latter answered by such a lively trot that the doctor was 
nearly jolted out of the buggy. 


56 


THE LOST MODEL, 


4 


CHAPTER V. 

THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSELVES. 

*^Are you ready, Renchen?” shouted the doctor that 
evening up the stairs to his daughter, who was supposed 
to be arraying herself for the party. ‘^It is now nearly 
nine o’clock, and you must hurry, if you want to get there 
before breakfast.” 

Bald fertig^ papa,” was the answer which came float- 
ing from the distance. 

The doctor sat down, and for the third time that even- 
ing commenced pulling on his gloves and feeling if his 
cravat was right. For want of something to do, he 
glanced over the room to where Caspar was seated in the 
arm-chair, reading very intently from a newspaper, and 
inquired of that young gentleman what he was reading. 

‘‘Oh, a little love-story,” said Caspar. 

“ Why don’t you and Renata read something else be- 
sides love-stories? Have you no taste for anything but 
trash?” 

“When a fellow comes home tired from work, papa, 
he don’t want to bore his eyes out over heavy books; he 
needs something of a light, refreshing character.” 

“Tell me, Caspar, how many murders and outrages 
does it take to iftake up a light and refreshing story, as 
you call it?” 

“Well, papa, don’t let us get into an argument about 
it. I ain’t hurting anybody when I read this trash, as 
you call it. You want me to stay home this evening, be- 


THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 


57 


cause you are going out ; and I must do something which 
interests me, or I’ll be asleep in five minutes and forget 
all your directions.” 

The doctor seemed to appreciate the last part of this 
argument, for he dropped the subject, and Caspar plunged 
along in the blue-fire atmosphere of Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 
The doctor’s eyes fell upon a picture of Burgmiller, a 
scene from the Schwartzwald, and he commenced to 
soliloquize on his pet theme. 

This very week that letter must go off, if everything 
else goes to grass. It is a shame that I should treat such 
a noble nature with such indifference. Let me see. I 
must first apologize for my neglect, caused, to some ex- 
tent, by the unusual amount or quantity, or rather preva- 
lence, — yes, prevalence is better, — of sickness in our city 
the past few months. My time being thus occupied or 
busied — engrossed — with the care of my patients, together 
with the usual trouble of the ordinary ho use -affairs, — such 
as putting a new wing, or rather a story, on the back part 
of the house, — which was done for the accommodation of 
a friend, who is, perhaps, one of the most learned and in- 
telligent men I ever met with; in fact, a real genius, — so 
far as an American can possibly be a genius, — which is 
partly owing to the fact that in modern times ” 

The doctor was in danger of being utterly lost, as Red- 
wood used to say, in a parenthesis, when a carriage stopped 
at the door, and Harry Denham made his appearance. 

“Brother and I drove down to Leslie’s, and not find- 
ing you there, I concluded I would call round for you, 
doctor,” said the young man. 

“ That is very kind of you,” said the doctor. “I have 
been ready for over an hour, but Renata, it appears, is 
still fixing herself. I never yet saw a woman who could 
dress herself in a reasonable time, did you ? What is the 

6 


58 


THE LOST MODEL. 


reason they always take such an infernal time in doing 
anything?” 

Renata’s entrance, followed by Kate, the housekeeper, 
put a stop to the discussion about woman’s weakness. 
The girl was dressed in white, and for ornaments wore a 
coral breastpin, and the tiniest of roses in the folds of her 
beautiful hair. The handsome face brightened up with 
such a glow of childish good nature as she nodded good- 
evening to Denham and asked her father for his opinion 
of her toilet, that the two gazed at her in silence. One 
was carried back nearly twenty years, when he took home 
to his own house, in another land, just such a face and 
figure; and the other wondered if, in the future, he might 
not call that peerless face his own. 

“Well,” said old Kate, “you two gentlemen say no- 
thing; is she not pretty ?” 

“Charming,” said Denham; “a mother could not 
have dressed her favorite daughter with more taste and 
sense.” 

“Do you hear that. Kettle?” said the doctor. “Never 
mind blushing, you old goose, you’ve got more sense than 
any woman I know of.” 

“Except me, papa,” said Renata, with a courtesy. 

“As Redwood says, I am not clear upon that point. 
But come, Mr. Denham’s carriage is at the door; let us 
go. Caspar, don’t go to sleep now ; but if anything is 
urgent for me, why, you can step round and call me. We 
won’t be later than twelve.” 

The doctor had scarcely time to express his wonder, 
and ask what an ancient Greek or Roman would think of 
a modern party or ball, when the carriage stopped at 
Leslie’s house. At that time Boshville did not own many 
palatial residences, and the present house occupied by 
Mr. Leslie was a large, old-fashioned, square brick house. 


THE UPPER TEH AMUSE THEMSELVES. 59 

with a hall running through the centre ; but surrounded 
as it was by the trees of a tolerably large garden, with 
every window' glittering with light, it presented a very 
lively appearance this night, however sombre it looked in 
the day-time. A darkey or negro servant took the male 
guests into one room, where they left their hats and coats, 
and the females into another one for a similar purpose, 
with their bonnets and shawls, and then ushered them 
into a large parlor, from the open door of which came the 
hubbub of many voices. 

When the doctor entered the room with Renata and 
Denham, a dozen voices greeted him with, ^‘How do 
you do. Doctor Knappe?” “Why, you here, doctor?” 
“Glad to see you, doctor!” and so forth. And as he 
stopped to make a categorical answer to each person, 
when he finished Renata and Harry Denham were at the 
other end of the room, paying their respects to the 
daughter of the host. 

The doctor, like a thoughtful man, stepped aside and 
contemplated quite curiously the company. He had not 
met so many well-dressed people in his life before; in 
fact, he muttered to himself, he did not know there were 
so many ladies and gentlemen in Boshville. I wonder 
who they all are? There was old Binney, the pork-mer- 
chant, whom he saw yesterday in his shirt-sleeves rolling 
barrels of pork out of his warehouse, to-night dressed 
like a dandy, in a black dress-coat and white cravat, and 
with gloves on. There was Leary, too, dressed like a 
French ambassador, with his two daughters in red and 
blue silk, stalking through the room, who had bored every 
man and woman in Boshville to have their lives insured in 
the insurance company of which he was the sole agent. 
Jones, the banker, was talking in a very emphatic manner 
to Phipps, the retired merchant, and a young lawyer was 


6o 


THE LOST MODEL. 


drinking in the wisdom with grateful looks. Barnet, the 
leading dry goods merchant of Boshville, was there, and 
was the particular star of the evening; in whatever part 
of the room Barnet went he was greeted with kind words 
and smiles. The old men respected him for his knowl- 
edge of business, the young men for his wealth and an 
only accomplished daughter, and the women were obse- 
quious to him on account of his handsome clerks, his 
elegant store, and the wonderful stock of silks and dresses 
which he imported every season. 

The doctor, who felt kindly to most men, did not, how- 
ever, look kindly upon Barnet. When Barnet built his 
mansion, which threw Boshville into ecstasies of delight, 
the doctor and Redwood went with the rest to examine 
the house. They found lofty ceilings, broad staircases, 
large halls, beautiful chandeliers, costly paper on the 
walls, and most sumptuous furniture ; but not a picture 
or work of art through the whole house. ‘‘He has a 
turned-up nose,” said the doctor, “and is vulgar, and 
has no soul for the beautiful.” 

If he turned his attention to the ladies of the party, he 
was equally astonished at the effects wrought by dress 
and the arts of the toilet. How beautiful they all look ! 
Pure white complexions, luxuriance of hair, graceful 
figures, and all moving about with the majesty of queens. 
He glanced across the room, where Renata stood beside 
a group of ladies and gentlemen; and she appeared like a 
little white pigeon, surrounded with turkeys, peacocks, 
and swans. 

“Ah, here you are !”'said a voice at his elbow; “ we 
want you for a game at seven-up. When you have done 
looking at the women, come up and join us in the green 
room.” 

The doctor looked round. “Well, but, Leslie, you 


THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSELVES. 6i 

know I so seldom play cards that I’m but a poor hand 
at it.” 

“We want you to play, that’s all; we don’t care 
whether you win or not,” was the reply. The doctor 
saw, with a smile, that even Leslie had undergone the 
party transformation, — the frill on his shirt was larger and 
whiter, and the large diamond which gleamed on his front 
seemed to possess light enough for the whole affair. Sud- 
denly the noise of fiddles and flutes was heard, the com- 
pany arranged itself into cotillion sets, and the white- 
gloved young men and white-shouldered young ladies, 
who had been ornamenting in silence the walls and cor- 
ners of the room, now came boldly forward, bowed to 
each other, smiled, and capered round the centre of the 
room like kittens. The man who called the figures 
especially struck the doctor. He was a tall, bright'eyed 
darkey, and played the first fiddle. He beat time for 
the rest with his foot, and while he bawled at the top 
of his voice, “Ladies chain!” “swing your partners!” 
“forward right!” “balancez!” etc., he put in graceful 
trills and tremulandos into the screaming, gushing mel- 
ody. As he stood there working with his hands, arms, 
feet, voice, and eyes, the doctor thought him a marvel 
of skill ; and if a lady had not at that very moment 
approached and taken him by the arm, he would have 
shocked the company by talking to that colored musician. 
Fortunately, Mrs. Denham saved him from any such im- 
propriety. 

“ Now, doctor,” said that lady, “ let us give the young 
folks room to shake themselves; here are seats, and as 
we are older, if not wiser, we will sit and watch the 
fun. Have you seen my son George? Well, you must 
be sure and talk to him this evening; he asked after 
you not a minute ago. There he is, dancing with that 

6 * 


62 


THE LOST MODEL. 


red-haired girl, what’s her name? Blinks.” And, with 
her eye-glass across her Roman nose, she scrutinized 
Miss Blinks. 

“ Let me see ; he is captain now of the ” 

Brevet-major of the Fourth Infantry,” interrupted 
Mrs. Denham, with her usually decisive manner. ‘‘ He 
ought to be colonel, and will be before long ; if not here, 
why, somewhere else.” And she looked at the doctor 
and gave her head a significant shake. 

Promotion, I presume, is very slow in times of peace,” 
said the doctor; ‘‘and unless an unusual sickness should 
befall the officers of the army, I don’t see, Mrs. D., how 
your son will rise soon.” 

“There are windfalls sometimes, doctor.” She sat a 
little closer to him, and added, “Wonderful times are 
coming. The North will soon learn a lesson that the 
Southern States are not to be trifled with ; they’ll fight — 
fight — first. You’ll see !” 

The doctor’s eyes were as wide open as saucers, trying 
to see the good lady’s meaning. “ Well, but what have 
they got to fight about?” inquired he. 

“Fight about? The same thing which would make 
you fight, — their rights, their properties, their liberties. 
Do you suppose for a moment, doctor, that we will let the 
North and the East ruin us with their tariffs, their manu- 
facturing subsidies, and the general swindling process of 
their legislation, and steal our property, and try to de- 
grade us to the level of our own negroes ? Not much. 
No, sir ; this must be changed. Virginia has a hundred 
thousand armed men ; Georgia, fifty thousand ; Alabama, 
Tennessee, and Louisiana, a million of the finest troops 
of the world ; while Kentucky and Missouri alone have 
men enough to drive every Yankee into the sea.” And 
she snapped her fingers at the contemptible foe. “ But 


THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 63 

here’s George. George, Doctor Knappe, whom you no 
doubt remember.” 

A bright, handsomedooking young man came eagerly 
forward and greeted the doctor. 

have been trying to pay my respects to your 
daughter. Miss Renata ; but my brother Harry is telling 
her such an interesting story that I have not yet had a 
chance. You have not forgotten me, I hope.” 

Not at all,” said the doctor, smiling with pleasure; 

I always remember you, — you were such a manly boy, 
with such hearty, earnest ways, that it was a pleasure to 
see you and hear your talk.” 

“There, mother,” said the young man, blushing, “you 
are wrong when you say I am not decided.” 

“To tell you the truth. Captain, or Major Denham ” 

“Oh, call me George, doctor, by all means.” 

“ Well, George, then,” continued the doctor. “ I like 
to see youth earnest and hopeful. I like the young to be 
thoughtful ; but, above all, I like to see them kind, joy- 
ous, and sympathizing earnestly with everything around 
them. What do you say ?” 

“Here comes Miss Leslie, George,” interrupted the 
anxious mother. “She has been looking all over the 
room for you ; now show her a good deal of attention, as 
I told you.” And she trod on the doctor’s foot, mistaking 
it for her son’s. A strong perfume of musk heralded the 
young lady’s appearance. She was gorgeously dressed 
in blue silk, with as much of her shoulders bare as could 
well be got out, while on her fingers, her arms, her neck, 
and ears were hung costly jewels of all varieties, from a 
diamond to a moss-agate. Her hair itself was a wonder 
of ingenuity and skill. This the doctor found out, for as 
she turned her back to him he had a very good chance 
of observing how cunningly the various plaits, braids, and 


64 


THE LOST MODEL. 


curls were stuffed and bound together. It was the time 
when it was fashionable to have a bunch of curls hanging 
from the back of the head, and every woman you met 
wore huge bundles of hair — false hair — on their heads, the 
whole terminating in an avalanche of curls. 

Why, major, how do you do ?” said Miss Leslie. I 
am so delighted to see you !” And she giggled from the 
top of her head to her toes with delight. 

Perfectly well, thank you. Miss Leslie ; my mother 
and I were just talking about you.” 

Indeed ! Talk of the sun and its rays appear. Ha ! 
ha ! Well, you look so elegant to-night ! Ain’t you glad 
to get home among civilized people? You must feel so 
glad to get away from those nasty Indians, eh?” 

Not so much the Indians which drives me home,” 
said the major, gravely, ^‘as the friendship which still, 
you know, lingers between mother and myself.” 

“ Oh, of course; I forgot that. Why didn’t you wear 
your epaulettes this evening ? As you are the only military 
gent present, you might have made a regular sensation.” 

“ Shall I have the pleasure of waltzing with you?” said 
the major, bowing, as though he had suddenly found 
out that the beautiful girl could talk best with her feet ; 
^^I see the fiddles are going to strike again, and they do 
say that you are incomparable in the dance.” There was 
a giggle in reply, and the two disappeared among the 
excited crowd of dancers. 

Come, doctor,” said Mrs. Denham, ^‘let us go up- 
stairs and play a game of whist, and let the young people 
shake themselves. Renata is enjoying herself yonder, in 
a waltz with the tall Doctor Bedill, while my son, Harry, 
is trying to smile at the performance.” And she dragged 
him up-stairs to the card-table, and won his money with 
an air of determination to do something. 


THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 65 

Mrs. Denham was not far from the truth about Renata 
enjoying herself. She was very fond of dancing, and her 
pretty face and simple manners brought her quite a crowd 
of admirers. She danced with the old as well as the 
young; in fact, she liked old men then better than young 
ones. She had danced with Harry and several strangers, 
and had refused but one, and he was the delight of the 
other ladies, being the only dandy present. 

‘‘I hate dandies,” she said to Mrs. Leonard, the pale, 
but pretty, wife of the proprietor of the leading Boshville 
newspaper ; ‘‘ there is some excuse when a woman dresses 
like a fool, but none for a man. I wish Redwood were 
here ; I wonder what he would say to a man like that ?” 

This subject of Redwood was a grateful theme to Mrs. 
Leonard, and Renata, with woman’s penetration, found it 
out. 

“ I remember once he took me to a party given by the 
Beethoven Club, at their hall on Second Street, and as he 
would not dance, he sat down in the corner of the room 
with old Farnell, the chemist, and drank wine and talked 
science with him. When we went home, I teased him to 
tell me what he thought of the party; he said it reminded 
him of Pyramus and Thisbe, in one of Shakspeare’s 
plays; and when I praised the company, he repeated the 
verse from Heine : 

‘ Schwartze Roeche, seid’ne Struempfe, 

Weisze, hoefliche Manschetten, 

Sanfte Reden, Embrassiren — 

Ach ! wenn sie nur Koepfen haetten.' 


I like him very much. He is kind, and very wise, but 
something has gone wrong with him, and he has become 
a misanthrope, as Harry Denham says. I wonder what has 
become of papa? See, there comes the young preacher, 


66 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Mr. Maple, who is turning all the girls’ heads. To me 
he is so hateful ! His hands are so soft, and his eyes are so 
close together, I know he is wicked. Don’t look at him, 
Mrs. Leonard, for I am afraid of him.” 

As the girl prattled away, her bright eyes constantly 
sought for some object in the room ; and every time the 
door opened, she looked quite critically at the new-comer. 
At last, turning to her companion, she said, — 

“Let us go and look at the conservatory while they 
are dancing that stupid quadrille, and see the flowers 
which Mr, Leslie prides himself so much about.” 

“ He looks like a man who cared more for a good din- 
ner and a bottle of wine than flowers,” was the reply. 

“ Do you think so? Why, that big Mrs. Demick thinks 
he is the most elegant gentleman in Boshville. But come, 
I know the way.” 

A little circular glass house, in the centre of the garden, 
was the green-house, towards which Miss Knappe and her 
friend picked their way. The inside was not very large, 
and yet it had been so arranged with the fountain, little 
circular walks, and plant-beds, as to seem quite an exten- 
sive collection of rare flowers, shrubs, and trees. Different 
colored 'lanterns, suspended from the roof, served more 
to illuminate than to light up the place. At the farther 
corner, watching intently the slow unfolding of a cactus 
flower, stood Parthee. There was a brighter smile than 
ever upon Renata’s face as she hurried towards him and 
said, — 

“Is this the flower which only blooms after the sun 
has sunk ?” 

“ Yes, Miss Renata, it is one of what Mr. Leslie calls the 
night-blooming ceres, — come nearer and see it. It com- 
menced to open about ten o’clock; in a few more minutes 
it will be entirely open. ” 


THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSELVES. 67 

How delightful is the perfume!” said Mrs. Annette 
Leonard. 

‘‘ Do they have such flowers as these in your country ?” 
asked Renata. And she turned her eyes firmly and eagerly 
upon the young man’s face. 

“ Better ones, and they last longer.” He smiled as he 
continued: “Everything here is so short-lived; some 
things only live a minute, others hours and days; and 
even a man lives only a few years. Trees last longer ; 
but the mountains and the sea are always the same.” 

“True,” said Mrs. Leonard; “that is the fate of 
everything on earth. No country or race in that respect 
is better than another. If you come from South America 
or Mexico, your flowers are more plentiful, but they last 
no longer than ours.” 

“See,” said Parthee, unheeding the interruption; 
“now it is full, and nature commences to go back; the 
leaves will soon straighten, the color fade, the perfume 
give place to a disagreeable odor, and the stalk will bend 
to the ground.” 

“ Oh, not yet, not yet,” said Renata ; “ it is not dying 
yet. Of course such beautiful, delicate things cannot 
last, but they come and go all the time; and a thing which 
is constantly new is as beautiful and wonderful as though 
it always remained. But you are not polite : you did not 
answer Mrs. Leonard’s question, of where you came 
from.” 

“I came from beyond the mountains.” 

“Are you Spanish or Indian? What name is your 
father? and what language do you speak when you are at 
home?” 

“ My father has no name, and my people do not speak,” 
was the laconic answer. 

“I notice you laugh whenever I ask you questions. 


68 


THE LOST MODEL. 


What do you laugh at? Do you think I am a silly Dutch 
girl?- 

“ Why, my dear Renata,” whispered Mrs. Leonard, 
^‘you must remember he is Mr. Leslie’s gardener.” 

“I laugh when I am pleased,” said Parthee, “and it 
pleases me when you ask such funny questions; but they 
are difficult for me to answer. Have patience ; some day 
J will try and answer them all.” 

“You are a great favorite with Mr. Leslie; do you like 
him?” inquired Renata. 

“ He is a great man, and we small people must admire 
him.” 

“Yes, great in stature, but small in mind. What do 
you say, Mrs. Leonard ? Do you think him great?” 

“When young they say he was handsome, but very wild.” 

“ Oh, I know it all by heart,” said Parthee. “ I have 
heard it over and over again ; these are his own thoughts; 
now listen and you will find that he is the greatest of all 
men. When he walks, when he eats, when he dreams, 
and when he talks, this is what is in his heart : 

“ ‘My country — this boundless continent — is immense, 
enormous in wealth, inexhaustible in mines, and its 
mountains are the highest, its rivers the deepest, and its 
cataracts the mightiest in the world. Our people are 
better than other peoples; we are braver, know more, are 
quicker, more inventive, better looking, and more self- 
reliant; and we have fought the bloodiest battles, and 
built the swiftest ships, and are by force of our own in- 
dustry on the top rung of the ladder of manly excel- 
lence. My native State is the largest, most fertile, and 
most productive part of the whole country ; and its air, 
wood, and water far surpass all the rest. My native city, 
Boshville, is the first city in the State in manufactures, in 
politics, in wealth, and in fortunate position, and it 


THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 69 

stands unrivaled in the State for the number of its streets, 
the beauty of its buildings, and the wealth and culture of 
its citizens. In the city my family is the oldest; the 
great lawyers, soldiers and merchants in this city sprung 
from, or are allied to, my family. And /am the head of 
my family.’ ” 

‘‘Oh, if papa could only hear that!” cried Renata. 
“ It is so true! so true! How did you learn all that? 
That is precisely what he thinks !” 

“ I thought that Mr. Redwood could say bitter, satiri- 
cal things,” said Mrs. Leonard, laughing; “but that cer- 
tainly caps them all.” 

There was a noise of footsteps upon the gravel-walk 
outside, and immediately afterwards Redwood and Harry 
Denham entered the conservatory. 

“ Oh, here you are,” said the latter, “ studying botany, 
while all the young gentlemen are inquiring what is be- 
come of Miss Knappe — and Mrs. Leonard,” he added, 
slowly, bowing to that lady. 

“ We were backbiting and watching that beautiful cactus 
open,” said Renata. “ Come and see it.” 

“Why did you not come later?” asked Mrs. Leonard 
of Redwood, reproachfully, as he stood beside her, and 
she gave him her ungloved hand. 

“You must remember, Annette, that I have to wait 
until the telegrams come in from the East before I can 
leave the office.” 

“ Where is he this evening?” 

“ We came together. He is looking for you among the 
guests.” 

“ Let him look,” was the answer. And the little foot 
‘kicked impatiently the narrow border of moss which sur- 
rounded the fountain. 

As Harry Denham and Renata passed the open window 
7 


70 


THE LOST MODEL. 


of the conservatory, on their way back to the house, both 
stooped their heads and looked eagerly inside. 

“Are they in love with each other?” asked Denham. 

“ Of whom do you speak?” asked Renata, blushing. 

“ Of Mrs. Leonard and her companion ; did you see 
how they looked and listened to each other?” 

“ No, I didn’t look at them. It is nonsense to say that 
he is in love, for Redwood is a philosopher ; and philoso- 
phers, you know, are above all such weaknesses.” 

“I hope that he is not teaching you philosophy, 
then.” 

“No, Mr. Denham, no woman can be a philosopher; if 
she has brains enough to understand it, and heart enough 
to admire it, she never has the will to be it.” 

“For which constitutional defect let us praise the 
Lord.” 

When they reached the house, the band were playing a 
march, and the company were pairing off in the direction 
of the supper-room, where tables, covered with all the 
delicacies of the Boshville markets, stood ready for the 
occasion. A furious onslaught was made on the dishes of 
oysters, quails, and truffles, while the pyramids of ice- 
cream vanished beneath the digging of a hundred spoons. 
Amidst the clatter of the plates and chatter of the guests, 
the pop of the champagne bottles, always accompanied 
with a little scream of the lady in whose presence the ex- 
plosion was made, came in regular intervals like the heavy 
artillery of a battle. 

“If you want to keep the effervescence going on in your 
wine-glass,” said one of the guests, who seemed very anx- 
ious to make a sensation, “you should clap your hand 
suddenly and firmly over the wine-glass, and thus force 
the air into the wine. For instance, you see my glass of 
wine is already dead ; now I will make it foam over with 


THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSELVES, 71 

life, thus.” And he suddenly brought his hand down over 
the glass so awkwardly as to break it in pieces. 

'‘You must show that to our host,” said one amid the 
general titter ; “he would appreciate the operation much 
better than we lookers-on do.” 

“ When I was at Paris I always drank my bottle of Sau- 
terne for dinner, and felt splendid after it,” said a very 
young man to a pale girl in red silk. 

“Oh, how I would love to go to Paris!” was the re- 
joinder. “And pa says if business is good this winter and 
pork goes up, he will take me and ma there.” 

“Bananas are good in the South, say at New Orleans,” 
said a gentleman, while he skinned that vegetable; “but 
here they don’t taste much better than papaws.” 

“ Take brandy, take brandy,” whispered Judge Hickey 
to his companion; “it is very good, and won’t sour on 
your stomach like that red vinegar which they call Ca- 
tawba. ’ ’ 

“ Did you hear that terrible story about Miss Short?” 
inquired fat and childless Mrs. Pilgers of her neighbor, 
the parson’s wife. “ They say that her father had to take 
her to Europe because she fell in love with the nigger 

coachman, and ” A shout of laughter from the other 

end of the room drowned the balance of this speech. 

“They are laughing at one of papa’s experiences, I pn?- 
sume,” said Renata, as she noticed the doctor gesticulat- 
ing in the midst of the laughing group. 

“ Did you go long or short on Erie?” said Stubbs, the 
banker, to a stockbroking friend. 

“ I bought Erie at 25, and I will bet a hundred dollars 
that in ten days it is 82. Fisk’s scheme failed, and 
Tweed’s a rogue; look out, there is money in it.” 

“There, Miss Knappe, there is the most beautiful tea- 
rose in my garden, and you will remember that my garden 


72 


THE LOST MODEL. 


is not to be beat,” said Mr. Leslie, with a very red and 
excited face, as he handed the blushing girl the flower. 

“What funny things take place in this world!” said 
Renata to Harry Denham when the donor was gone. 

“ Leonard, it is late and I am very tired; had we not 
better go home?” asked Mrs. L. of her husband, who, 
flushed with the wine, was attempting to make a speech 
on politics. 

“Home? No!” blustered out that gentleman, and 
he took hold of another bottle. “Why, hang it, we have 
only just come. You can go home if you want to; Red- 
wood will call the carriage. Now, boys, give us a toast ! 
Fill up your glasses, every one of you !” 

The ladies gradually retired from the supper-room, and 
left it in the possession of the old gentlemen, who pulled 
out their cigars, smoked, and told each other stories fit 
only for male ears to hear. In the parlors the dance again 
went on, and in the upper room a couple of tables were 
occupied by card-players, who watched each other like 
tigers. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning when 
Renata and the doctor got home, and found Caspar still 
in the chair, with the newspaper on his lap, but he fast 
asleep, with his head back and his mouth wide open. 

“ Caspar ! Caspar !” cried Renata, as she placed the end 
of a banana in his mouth, “wake up, and see the pine- 
apple and bananas I brought you from the party.” 

“Did you have a nice time, sister?” asked the boy, 
rubbing his eyes, and looking pleased at the fruit. 

“Splendid ; I would not have missed it for the world.” 


•X- 


THE DOCTOR RIDES HIS HOBBY. 


73 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE DOCTOR RIDES HIS HOBBY. 

‘‘Ah, Kettle,” said Dr. Knappe, “the room looks 
nice and clean this evening, and I am very glad of it, as 
I expect some company in a few minutes to see my en- 
gravings. Now, I must keep it this way, and I certainly 
will not let it get so dirty again.” 

“I cannot understand,” said Renata, looking up from 
her work, “why you will not let us clean this room every 
day like the rest, and not let it go until it is as dirty as a 
hog-pen, and fine people are coming, when it must be 
suddenly cleaned, and consequently only half cleaned.” 

“I want you to keep your brooms and brushes out of 
this room ; there are plenty of other places in the house 
where you can flourish them, but don’t do it in here 
except when I ask you.” 

“You need not be afraid, papa; this is the only ugly 
room in the house ; Kettle and I, if we can help it, never 
go near it.” 

The doctor was too much absorbed in admiring the pic- 
tures on the walls to heed this unkind criticism. 

“Turn the gas down a little. Kettle; the heat and 
smoke are very injurious to paintings. You see how it 
has discolored that Achenbach, while Burgmiller, which 
is protected by the glass, is as fresh as though it was 
painted this morning.” 

“What company do you expect this evening, papa?” 

“ Well, I do not know all their names. Theophilus 
7 * 


74 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Maple is, however, one of them. What are you laughing 
at?” 

“ I was thinking how foolish he acted at the party.” 

“Foolish or not foolish, he is a very finely educated 
man, and has traveled all over Europe. Leslie tells 
me that he is considered one of the greatest preachers 
in the West. I must show him my ‘Last Supper,’ by 
Morghen, as he saw the original in Italy.” 

“Kettle,” said Renata, quietly, in German, to the 
old housekeeper, “when he comes you look at him, and 
see if you do not think him to be a loafer. His eyes are 
too close together.” 

A few minutes later the company were assembled in 
the doctor’s art-parlor. There were Mr. Leslie, Mr. 
Maple, Harry Denham, and one or -two brother-physi- 
cians 4)resent ; and the doctor, as he stood in the centre 
of the group, in front of a large portfolio, and descanted 
upon the merits of the work he exhibited to them, was in 
the height of his pleasure. 

“Now, Mr. Maple,” said the doctor, pausing in his 
work, and putting his spectacles up among his hair, “I 
shall show you some of the great Italian masters ; works, 
as you very well know, for you saw many of the originals, 
full of the highest and deepest religious feeling. Now, I 
am no church-goer, — for what time have I to go to church ? 
— and yet I know that no great work was ever created but 
the artist was inspired to it by feelings of reverence, of 
devotion, and of humility. This modern spirit of ‘one- 
man-as-good-as-another’ has made a good many machines, 
steam-engines, and all that kind of thing, but it never 
called forth a great work of art, like the Catholics pro- 
duced in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.” 

“I hate Catholics!” muttered Mr. Leslie. 

“You consider this world, then, like a garden,” said 


THE DOCTOR RIDES HIS HOBBY. 


75 


Mr. Maple, ^'and the men and women plants in it, with 
a strong tendency to become weeds, and that they need 
the pruning-knife and shears of the gardener to keep them 
within the bounds of order and beauty.” 

“ Precisely ! precisely ! And I’ll tell you why. Here — ” 

“If you are going to get up a discussion on plants,” 
interrupted Mr. Leslie, “say so, and I’ll clear out; and 
if you are going to show us some more pictures, doctor, 
why, out with them.” 

At this moment Renata entered, followed by Redwood. 
“I caught him just as he was going out,” said the girl 
to her father, triumphantly, “and I told him he must 
stay,' and keep me company the whole evening.” 

“That’s right; sit down here in front. I have got 
something new you have not yet seen. Redwood.” Then 
turning to Leslie: “Why, what is the hurry now, Mr. 
Leslie ? This is not a stock-market, and neither of us are 
going long or short, as you call it. You certainly have 
nothing to do between now and morning.” 

“I don’t know about that,” said Leslie. “Well, go 
on, — go ahead.” 

“Is that a new landscape? Who painted that?” in- 
quired Redwood of Renata, pointing to a flat scene with 
a number of windmills in it. 

“Oh, yes, that is the latest Burgmiller; don’t look at 
it, or papa will never cease praising it.” 

The doctor by this time had got out of his portfolio, 
and placed upon the easel in front of his guests, a very 
fine copy of “The Last Supper,” engraved by Raphael 
Morghen. “ Now there is one of the greatest works ever 
conceived by man. You saw the original, Mr. Maple, 
when you were abroad. This is Morghen’s engraving of 
it. Redwood, tell us about the picture, what it represents 
from the Bible, and who all these figures are. My mem- 


76 


THE LOST MODEL. 


ory is so bad that I cannot remember names. These, 
however, are the twelve disciples : the one with the bag 
is Judas; Peter has a knife in his hand, and Thomas 
holds his finger up ; and the figure next to Christ is the 
beloved disciple John. I wish I could describe it like 
Redwood can, when he likes. It represents, as you all 
know, treason in friendship. Here are the founders of 
a new religion, — the greatest, so they tell me, which the 
world ever saw, — and, unfortunately, among these chosen 
men of the earth is a traitor, false and treacherous. (I 
wish I could tell all this like Redwood tells it.) You 
see what noble forms and magnificent heads these men 
have, worthy of the noble theme which occupies their 
minds and hearts. Now, think of the mean, petty faces 
with which we are surrounded in this life, and then say 
what must the artist have been who could create such a 
splendid scene for his fellow-men to look at, admire, and , 
be chastened and elevated by the sight.” 

‘‘I would like to know how these men — the disciples 
— really looked,” said Renata to Denham, who was bend- 
ing over her, admiring her knitting. 

Don’t talk nonsense, my child,” said the doctor; “it 
makes no difference to us how they looked. Of one thing 
you may be quite sure ; that they did not look half so 
noble and handsome as these men do.” 

“Indeed!” said Mr. Maple. “I beg leave to differ 
from you. I would rather possess a real portrait of one 
of the disciples than the whole dozen by Da Vinci.” 

“Tell me why, Mr. Maple, tell me why.” 

“They didn’t have table-cloths in those days, nor did 
they sit all on one side of the table, like children at a 
school,” said Leslie, sotto voce. 

“ The reason why,” said Mr. Maple, raising his voice 
and looking at Renata, “is because one is truth, and the 


THE DOCTOR RIDES HIS HOBBY. 


77 


Other is a fiction of man’s invention. The only merit of 
this picture is to remind us of how they might have 
looked ; but how insignificant must this be beside the 
portraits of the real Christ and his disciples !” 

“ One is a question of mere curiosity,” said the doctor, 
getting excited, and looking over to Redwood for sup- 
port; ‘‘I don’t care if you had them all, yes, the very 
real portraits of the fishermen who were the disciples of 
the founder of Christianity ; and yet, I say, these men 
and this great picture would outshine the other.” 

What ! Do you care nothing for truth ? Is an im- 
aginary thing equal to the reality ?” 

Yes, of course it is.” 

Doctor, do you make the hand of man more power- 
ful than the hand of God? Can you compare, for a 
moment, the brush of Da Vinci with the incomprehensible 
productions of the Deity ? Think of it ! Had we the 
portraits of the apostles and the disciples of our Saviour, 
we should then see the faces of those men, and through 
their faces the souls of the founders of our religion. 
There must be some sympathy, doctor, between the soul 
and the body ; consequently, their faces would harmonize 
with their noble thoughts and deeds, and we should then 
see the proper form of goodness, we should then have 
before us the true types of the greatest of our race. Take 
the figure of our Saviour, for instance. We say, or rather 
the Bible says, that man is made in the image of God. 
But these images differ very much upon the earth, and it 
is a question of the keenest interest among men to know 
that if the Deity, for a brief period of time, should de- 
scend among us and put on an earthly covering, which 
one of the many human types He would adopt. Now, if 
we had the real, true portrait of Christ, we should see the 
noble features which won the hearts of nearly all beholders, 


73 


THE LOST MODEL. 


— the face which fascinated every woman who looked 
upon it, — the face which children loved, and which loved 
children, — and, above all, we should have the face of Him 
who died upon the cross for us all. Whereas this is but 
the work of a man, who has certain aesthetic types of 
beauty in his mind, and cuts all his men and women after 
that one type. And as no painter can draw or paint any- 
thing but what he has seen with his eyes, so these figures 
are but the idealized faces of the Italians which Da Vinci 
found in the streets and cities of his own country !” 

The doctor sat down and sighed before the ardent 
attack, and was silent. 

think you have misunderstood our friend, the doc- 
tor,” said Redwood, gravely, turning to the triumphant 
preacher. ‘‘Truth is one thing and beauty in art is an- 
other. If you mean by truth, in art matters, the servile 
copying of nature, defects and all, then that kind of truth 
would degrade the art. That is the kind of truth which 
Ruskin clamors for when he scolds Raphael for not paint- 
ing mud on Peter’s legs, and bunions and flea-bites on his 
flesh. The only kind of truth which the artist has to do 
with, is the relation between his ideas and the objects by 
which he represents them. But now, suppose that you had 
the real portraits of Christ and his disciples, — this picture 
would outrank it for a very simple reason. Experience 
has taught us, and I think truly, that in this world, unless 
under a sky and culture so favorable as Greece once 
was, the human face and figure seldom reaches the high 
point of beauty and perfection of which it is capable. 
Men are the productions of climate, food, habits, work, 
occupations, and all the petty surrounding circumstances 
of life ; and they consequently bear upon their faces and 
figures the imprint of their past sufferings, as well as their 
passions. You will always find some defect in every hand- 


THE DOCTOR RIDES HIS HOBBY. 


79 


some face you meet with ; it maybe one of race, or habit, 
or climate, or culture, or birth, or some circumstance 
arising from a private vice, which mars its otherwise 
perfect character. Not so, however, with the creation 
of the artist ; these very defects his aesthetic eyes soon 
detect, and, taking the rest from nature, these he throws 
away. The ideal type he carries in his mind was equally 
given him by nature, and, when he draws, he still gives 
to his model upon canvas the excellence which nature in 
some circumstances denied him ; he does not create, but 
when one human face is before him, he can leave out an 
accidental defect, and add the trait which would have 
made the model almost perfection. Then, again, Mr. 
Maple, you must consider that the qualities which distin- 
guished the disciples of Christ were those of the heart, 
not of the head ; and nature, you know, often pours her 
most sacred fire in the humblest and meanest of human 
vessels, so far as looks are concerned. History tells us 
that the disciples were men of the poorest class and 
meanest of occupations ; and it would be nonsense to ex- 
pect that they had faces like Greek philosophers, or noble 
and dignified figures like great Roman senators. They 
were not athletes, nor did they cultivate beauty and grace 
of the body. I am speaking now of the race. They had 
been conquered and enslaved, and were simply hewers of 
wood and drawers of water for their conquerors. Had we 
the real portraits of the disciples, it would no doubt gratify 
a very keen and natural curiosity; but, to my thinking, it 
would give Christianity a fatal blow. The forms and 
faces which Fra Angelico, Francia, Da Vinci, and Raphael 
have given us, form a nobler and more fitting basis for 
Christianity, as we believe and teach it, than would the 
narrow faces and bent figures of the real persons who lived 
and acted out that wonderful drama.” 


8o 


THE LOST MODEL, 


‘‘You do not mean to say,” said Maple, with a sneer, 
“ that a Madonna by Raphael, and a Venus by Titian, are 
more beautiful than the fair Italians who served them as 
models ? or that a painter’s creation can be more beauti- 
ful than a work by nature?” 

“I do. I say precisely that the San Sisto Madonna is 
more beautiful than the simple peasant girl whose face 
and figure inspired him with the thought. Her face told 
of the drudgery of her daily life, of the petty passions of 
her nature — be it for a dress or a man ; but when it had 
passed through the crucible of the artist’s imagination, — 
through his brain and heart, — the mean, petty, and mortal 
part of it was thrown aside, and only the permanently 
beautiful remained.” 

“Precisely! precisely!” said the doctor, beaming with 
admiration upon his friend ; “just as ” 

“ See here, doctor, if you are-going to start a debating 
club, or a wrangling society, just s% so on the spot, and 
I’ll go home; I came to see your pictures, and not to 
hear your oratory,” said Leslie, very energetically. 

The doctor laughingly told Leslie that he was a prosaic 
kind of a steam-engine, and then, good-naturedly, went 
on with the exhibition. 

“ What a delightful time you must have. Miss Renata, to 
live in this casket, amid all these beautiful works of art!” 
said Mr. Maple, leaning over that young lady’s chair, and 
bestowing upon her one of his most impressive stares. 

“I never think of it. I never come in this room, ex- 
cept to clean it ; so that to me it is not much of a casket. 
Besides, I don’t think the pictures so very fine ; it is sim- 
ply papa’s enthusiasm which makes them seem so.” 

“Oh, but you are mistaken. Miss Renata; these en- 
gravings are really very beautiful, and you, of all the per- 
sons in this room, ought to appreciate that quality most.” 


THE DOCTOR RIDES HIS HOBBY. 


8l 


^‘Why?” 

‘‘Because you are so handsome,” was the reply, sotto 
voce. Then aloud, “ That is a beautiful engraving of one 
of Lessing’s landscapes, doctor; I saw the original at 
Dusseldorf.” 

“ When I was in England there was not a good modern 
landscape in the whole country, — I mean of an English 
artist,” said Harry Denham ; “ and yet the names of Les- 
sing, Schirmer, and Ashenbach were almost unknown.” 

“In England,” said the doctor, “ they have no school 
of art, and, consequently, no art. There, as here, de- 
mocracy takes the place of art. Every man paints as he 
chooses, — on his own hook, — and all that is produced is 
an accumulation of portraits in one picture by Frith, or 
a great, glaring, exaggerated portrait by Watts.” 

“How small your hands are! What pretty piece of 
work is that you are knitting?” asked Maple of the girl, 
as he edged still nearer to her. 

“Oh, that is undoubtedly intended for an ornamental 
cassock, to be given to some favorite preacher 1” said 
Harry Denham, who had overheard the question. “ All 
our young ladies are in love with eloquent and fervent 
preachers, and they express their admiration by working 
them slippers, morning-gowns, and ” 

“Night-caps,” suggested Renata, laughing. “This is 
intended for a footstool for papa; he always complains 
that when he sits in this room his feet get so cold ; and 
as he hates carpets, this will be better than the cold floor 
for him.” 

Mr. Maple gave Denham a most unapostolical sneer 
and disdainful look, and went over to the other side of the 
room. 

“ This is the first opportunity I have had of asking you 
if you enjoyed yourself the night of the party.” 

8 


82 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I love to dance, and as I danced a good deal you 
may be sure I was happy. I am glad you drove that nasty 
man away from me ; my heart sinks when he stares so. 
Bring your chair nearer, then he can’t coiae back.” 

^*Your father seems quite struck with him; see how 
admiringly he gazes upon him.” 

“A bad man, who flatters papa, always imposes upon 
him. It is so funny ! Redwood the other day told papa 
that the Lord sent him for the benefit of the rogues.” 

Another discussion had suddenly sprung bp between 
the doctor and one of his guests. 

I tell you, doctor, I have seen the Alps, have been up 
the Jardin and Montanvert frequently, and I say that 
the real scene looks finer than your Calame.” 

‘‘ You are entirely mistaken,” was the rejoinder; you 
never in your life saw the Alps look so grand and beau- 
tiful as this painting ! Look at the yawning abyss, the 
blasted pine, the snow nestling in the clefts of the rock, 
and the wonderful distribution of light!” 

“What of that? what of all that? Isn’t the same 
thing in nature, and a thousand more besides? This is 
pretty, but the real thing is beautiful beyond all expres- 
sion.” 

“In the sense I speak,” said the doctor, waving his 
arms in an excited manner, “the artist must surpass what 
he sees, or he is not a great artist. I cannot express 
myself clearly upon that point.” 

“I think with the doctor,” said Redwood, coming to 
the rescue, “that beauty, or rather this kind of beauty, 
can only properly be predicated of the work of an artist. In 
nature the tree, the mountain, the meadow, and the river 
are dumb, uncouth, and generally more or less injured 
in their forms by man, and by the accidents of nature. 
A cold wind has chilled the sapling, and given it a squatty 


THE DOCTOR RIDES HIS HOBBY. 


83 


growth ; the rains have washed the banks into the river, 
and man has placed a cotton-mill just below the cataract, 
and the scene in nature is frivolous and unmeaning ; the 
artist comes and drowns the cotton-mill, curves the broken 
bank, heightens the tree, and gives a new current and 
power to the river. You will find in Switzerland those 
trees, that valley, those mountain peaks and clouds tinged 
with golden light ; but altogether, in that grouping, in 
that color and light, never, — never.” 

‘‘ My God !” said Leslie, ‘‘ you are like a lot of school- 
boys, you wrangle over everything. I have known Red- 
wood for fifteen years, and I never heard him speak so 
much before ; if you go on this way, the doctor will talk 
all night.” 

Now, you are a strange man, Leslie,” said the doctor, 
good-naturedly; if we were talking about stocks, bonds, 
or railroad shares, you would listen with a pious devotion, 
but because it is only about pictures you break it up with 
contempt. Why, one of these works will outlast even the 
Erie swindle. Why don’t you take life like my friend 
Burgmiller takes it? Tell him, Mr. Denham, tell him, if 
you please, how Burgmiller passes his life, and then you 
will say that is how a man ought to live.” 

Denham, thus appealed to, reluctantly left the side of 
Miss Renata, and turning to the speakers described the 
life of the Dusseldorf artist. When he moved away. 
Maple, who had watched the opportunity, immediately sat 
down beside the girl and said in his sentimental manner, 

I was admiring your picture on the wall there, beside 
that fat little boy. Tell me, who is the cross old lady who 
holds you by the hand ?” 

‘‘ That is our dear old Kettle, the housekeeper, and she 
is not cross.” 

‘‘Do you know that your face is handsomer than any 


84 


THE LOST MODEL. 


ever painted by Guido Reni or Raphael ?■ I am aston- 
ished that your papa should prize so highly an engraving 
of beauty, when he has in his own daughter so choice a 
work of nature.” This was spoken so low that it only 
reached the ears of Renata. 

“That is nonsense, nonsense. What do you say to 
that, Mr. Denham? this gentleman says I am as fine as a 
picture by Guido Reni or Raphael.” 

“I hope he did not say it as loud as you do; it was 
possibly a corner compliment, not to be repeated.” 

The discomfited clergyman fell back upon his sneer, 
and Renata, laughing at the angry look on Denham’s face, 
went out to get the wine for the guests. The clock struck 
one, and the doctor had one of his guests in the corner 
reading to him a letter from Burgmiller, Denham was 
explaining to Redwood his theory of the Wagner music, 
Maple with a glass of wine in his hand was shooting very 
tender glances at Renata, who was holding her brother 
Caspar’s hand and listening with delight to his account 
of the play, from which he had just returned, while Leslie 
with uplifted finger — the one with the large diamond upon 
it — was explaining to his neighbor the difficulties of the 
Indian question, and what a good speculation it would be 
to buy lands where the Pacific railroad was about to run. 

“Kettle,” said Renata, when she retired that night, 
and the old servant was tying up the girl’s braids of hair, 
“ what is jealousy a sign of?” 

“They say it is a sign of love. When you were little, 
you were very jealous. I dared not look at or touch any 
other child in your presence. ’ ’ 

“Then I’m not in love now,” after a pause. “But I 
think I know somebody who is.” 


MAGDALENS AND MADONNAS. 


8S 


CHAPTER VII. 

SOME PEOPLE LIKE MAGDALENS BETTER THAN MADONNAS. 

The doctor sat at his morning meal, and opposite him 
sat Caspar, with a newspaper in his hand, which he read 
very attentively, occasionally stopping to take a bite of 
the toast or a sip of the coffee. The doctor, with his 
gold spectacles pushed back among his hair, had his large 
blue eyes bent very closely on the boy, as the latter with 
crossed legs paid more attention to his paper than to the 
breakfast. 

What are you doing, Caspar, my boy?” 

‘‘Reading the newspaper.” 

“What do you read the newspaper for, Caspar?” 

The boy looked up in astonishment. “What do I 
read it for? Why, for the news. To know what is going 
on, — to learn what the world is doing, and all that kind 
of thing.” 

“Tell me, what news do you want to find out, Caspar? 
Anything relating to your business?” 

“ What kind ? Why, papa, how can I tell that ? Every- 
body reads the papers to know what is going on.” 

“ Ha ! Well, tell us what you have found out this 
morning ; let us see how much wiser you are.” 

“ Well, there was a man stabbed in the Fifth Ward last 
night, Benson’s house was burned down, and there is a 
report that the Emperor of the French was shot at while 
returning from the opera; all kinds of things like that.” 

“ Well, my boy, how do you feel after knowing all that? 

8 * 


86 ■ the lost model. 

Is that kind of information useful to you in your business, 
or are you wiser and nobler in knowing it, or is your 
mind more at ease ? Suppose in to-morrow’s paper every 
one of those items is contradicted, how far are you 
advanced in the knowledge of things? But stop a minute. 
Give me that bundle of old papers in the corner. There, 
take this one, and read the first column, and tell us what 
this paper which is twenty years old says. Now read it.” 

The boy read : ^‘Terrible fire on Fourth Street — explo- 
sion of a river steamer — elopement of a young lady in 
high life — man killed in a brothel — and the Queen of 
England shot at ” 

“There, there, that will do, my boy. As these items 
were published twenty years ago, you consequently did 
not know them, having never read that newspaper. Did 
you lose anything by your ignorance of all those interest- 
ing events? Or do you really suppose that these kind of 
things constitute knowledge?” 

“Oh, father! you carry things too far. I had better 
been born a fool, than not know what is going on.” 

“How many times must I tell you, you sheeps-head, 
that these accidents do not constitute knowledge, and 
that you are sullying your memory with lies, not facts?” 

“Oh, well,” said the boy doggedly, “it’s exciting to 
read them, and I like to be excited.” 

“ Do you? then suppose you saw up my fire -wood in 
the cellar, and that will excite your muscles as w'ell as 
your brain.” To what length this discussion might have 
gone there is no telling, for the doctor was quite a long 
lecturer whenever he struck one of his favorite themes, 
when the door-bell rang violently and put an end to the 
dispute. When Caspar opened the door, a man insen- 
sible and covered with blood was carried in and laid 
on the sofa, and a crowd of men filled the doctor’s office. 


MAGDALENS AND MADONNAS. 


87 


‘‘How are you, doc?” said a policeman who helped 
to carry the wounded man in ; “ there was a fire down on 
Ninth Street, and Dick Mulberry here got into a fight 
with some of the engine boys, and he got his head opened 
with a slung-shot. Look at it ; it is a pretty bad lick !” 
The doctor took olf his coat, and pulled up his sleeves. 

“Go up-stairs,” to Caspar, “and tell Renata not to 
come down ; and bring me a basin of warm water and a 
pair of scissors. Get away from the window, there ! I 
cannot see if you block out the light that way.” 

“I’ll go for those fellows,” said the policeman, catch- 
ing up his club, and as he hurried out the crowd backed 
away from the windows. When the doctor had washed 
the blood away from his patient’s face, he recognized in 
him the leading rowdy of Boshville ; a man who was as 
celebrated for his brutal fights as the doctor himself was 
for his pictures. The fellow never flinched once as the 
doctor sewed up his wound and plastered and bound up 
the ugly gashes on his head and .back. But he would 
occasionally mutter out his determination to “chaw up” 
a number of people, whom he named, as soon as he was 
“fixed up” again. 

Two of his companions stood close to the doctor, with 
their hands in their pockets, closely watching, with a 
scowl on their countenances, his movements. They never 
offered to assist, but were critically observing the whole 
operation. One asked the other, with a wink at the doctor, 
“Who is he?” 

“ A Dutchman !” was the laconic reply. 

When the dressing was all over, the doctor said, “There 
you are, Mr. Mulberry, as sound as ever. If those bandages 
pain you, come and see me, and I’ll loosen them for you.” 

‘ ‘ Boys, where is my coat and hat ?’ ’ They were handed 
to him, and he put them on. Then without a word to the 


88 


THE LOST MODEL. 


doctor, without a gesture, — almost without even a look, 
— he turned upon his heel, wrenched open the doors, 
slammed them behind him, and tramped away with the 
crowd at his heels. 

The doctor gazed for a moment at the retreating mob, 
then picked up the pieces of lint, put aside the basin of 
blood and water, and, looking intently at Caspar, asked 
him what he thought of that. 

The boy blushed crimson, but did not answer. 

The German equivalent for freedom is ‘ Frechheit’ or 
impudence, and this fellow is the natural product of 
liberty and the principle that ‘ one man is as good as an- 
other.’ Whenever you pray, my boy, for my sake ask 
that you may never become one of these brutes of free- 
dom. Now, supposing I had done this much for a dog, 
don’t you think he would have made some motion ex- 
pressive of his gratitude towards me for relieving him 
from pain ? Why, I tell you, my boy, in every city of the 
Union there are hundreds, yes, thousands of such loafers, 
who are more ignorant than an Esquimaux, more blood- 
thirsty than an Indian, and have less kindness in them 
than a spider has of milk. As sure as there is a God 
above me I would take them all, — and there is certainly a 
million in the country, — and set them on the prairie, and 
pray the Almighty to strike them dead with lightning, 
just for the honor of the human race. The Assyrian hosts 
that the angel smote while they slept were gentlemen in 
comparison with these rowdies. Now go to your work, 
and as you go out send Renata to me; tell her to put 
on her bonnet and shawl.” 

While the doctor was speaking. Redwood entered, and, 
after waiting until the boy closed the door behind him, 
he asked, “ How is Annette Leonard? You were there 
this morning, were you not?” 


MAGDA LENS AND MADONNAS. 


89 


‘‘Yes, Redwood, they sent for me at four o’clock this 
morning. The poor lady is very sick, — high fever, — and 
what is most astonishing to me, she has a cut on her 
cheek and temple two inches long, besides black eyes and 
other bruises about the face. They teir me that getting 
up in the night, in the dark, her night-dress caught 
against something, she stumbled and fell, striking her 
head against the sharp corner of the bureau, and ” 

“An invented lie!” said Redwood, bitterly. “You 
know the truth, don’t you, Conrad?” 

“Well, of course, I have my thoughts or rather my 
suspicions how it is ; but as to what has really taken place 
I am ignorant !” 

“Then I will enlighten you. Leonard, her husband, 
beats her whenever he gets into a jealous fit. He drinks, 
and when he is. sufficiently mad with the whisky he goes 
home, pulls her out of bed by the hair, kicks her, and 
strikes her with anything he can lay his hands on. Then 
he is suddenly stricken with remorse, cries, kisses her 
hands, and begs on his knees to be forgiven !” 

“Great Heaven! that is the secret, then, of her pale 
face and that timid air. But jealous, jealous of whom?” 

There was a pause, when Redwood answered, as bis 
forehead and ears mantled with the rising blood, “Of 
me ! Yes, Conrad, of me ! It is too long a story to tell 
at present,” he added, as he avoided the earnest look of 
the doctor, 

“ Have you ever quarreled with Leonard ?” 

“Yes; but we quarreled for the last time the other 
day. When he first hired me to write for his paper, he 
told me he was going to break up the political rings and 
cliques of politicians who were living on the spoils of 
what they stole from the public treasury ; and he wanted 
me to assist him in publicly lashing the impudent scoun- 


90 


THE LOST MODEL. 


drels who robbed the people and boasted of their robbery. 
His paper, the now famous ‘ Truthteller,’ was then an 
unknown sheet, kept alive by the advertisements and by 
the sale of copies bought by the idiots who wrote for 
the paper. I entered upon the task with earnestness, and 
you know very well that I exposed the swindles of the 
men who got millions to build parks and bridges, and 
who put one-half of the cost into their own pockets; and 
I explained the caucus frauds, the ballot-box stuffing, and 
the thousand other cheats which political tricksters prac- 
ticed upon the people. The paper sold well ; the rogues 
who were not detected laughed to see the rogues who 
were found out writhing beneath the lash of a newspaper. 
At first they tried to bully Leonard into silence and re- 
spect for those who had money, but at that time he could 
not afford to be still, and he only lashed the louder for 
the threats ; that is to say, he brought me the facts, I 
wrote the articles, and he gave himself out as the author ; 
and, armed as he was, snapped his fingers and sometimes 
his pistol at their faces. But every man has his price. 
The man they could not bully into silence they bribed, 
and then came the change. The fellow whom yesterday 
I had denounced as a forger, a treasury thief, and a 
demagogue, to-day I was to praise as a patriot, and eulo- 
gize for his honesty and integrity. Now I know that 
honest men are scarce, and patriotism simply a tradition. 
What I had labeled as ^poison’ yesterday, I refused to 
mark ‘ elixir of life’ to-day. We had a stormy interview, 
and we parted in anger ; he, as I left him, emphasizing 
the fact that henceforth his house was closed to me.” 

Simply because you left him?” 

Not so much that, as when he heard I had accepted 
a position among the writers of the ‘Spread-Eagle,’ 
with the proprietor of which he has a bitter quarrel.” 


MAGDALENS AND MADONNAS. 


91 


The doctor sighed, and, feeling somewhat perplexed, 
looked upon the ground and fell into a reverie. He was 
just going to warn Redwood to beware of Leonard, for 
he was a very dangerous man, when he looked up and 
noticed that he had left the room, and in his place came 
Renata, ready dressed for the walk. 

“ Did you see the beautiful picture Redwood has in his 
room? It is a portrait of Mrs. Leonard. Did you, 
papa ?’ ’ 

No. When did he place it there?” 

“Yesterday, I think. She is very pretty; but so shy 
for a great rich lady.” The doctor was silent, and was 
sinking again into another reverie, when that young lady 
aroused him with, — 

“You ain’t going to the hospital, are you, papa? be- 
cause I can’t go there. I don’t mind the sick people, 
I feel sorry for them; but those foolish boys who are 
studying to be doctors, I just hate them. They stare at 
me, — and then when you are away they talk such non- 
sense ! Besides, no other doctor takes his wife or daughter 
there, except Dr. Bovine, and his wife goes everywhere 
where there is a man.” 

“ No ; 1 want you to go with me to Ferris’s.” 

“ The stone-cutter?” 

“The sculptor^ my child. Don’t speak so disrespect- 
fully of his occupation ; he is an artist by education, if 
not by the grace of God. As I told you the other day, 
the archbishop gave him an order for a ‘Pieta;’ you 
know what it means, — ‘ Mary with the dead Christ upon 
her lap.’ You have seen my engraving of Michael Angelo’s 
famous masterpiece. Well, this, when finished, is to go 
on the right-hand side of the altar in the cathedral ; and 
on the left is to be another group, also ordered by the 
archbishop, representing Mary Magdalen washing or 


92 


THE LOST MODEL. 


kissing the feet of Christ, or something of that sort. I 
met Ferris the other day, and he was complaining to me 
of the difficulty of getting models in this country. He 
also said it is easier to find a fine figure or form than it is 
a fine face of the type which he requires, of what is called 
the Madonna kind. The other night he saw you at Leslie’s, 
and was very much impressed with your face, and asked 
me as a favor to bring you and let him take it as a model 
for the ” 

Me, papa? Ain’t you ashamed to talk such nonsense ! 
Why, I never heard of such a thing. My face is no more 
like a Madonna’s than a cat’s is.” 

The girl laughed, blushed, pouted, and looked indig- 
nant at the doctor. 

Don’t be silly, my child ; but put on your gloves and 
come along,” said the doctor, calmly, although he saw a 
storm was brewing. 

‘‘Why, father, think of it ! I ain’t handsome a bit.” 

“You goose ! who said you were?” 

“Well, but only handsome people sit for Madonnas; 
they never take girls like me, who know nothing ; it is so 
ridiculous that I wouldn’t go there for all the world;” 
and she ran out in the direction of the kitchen. 

“The devil’s broke loose again! Another row!” 
muttered the doctor, putting his spectacles into his 
pocket, and following her into the kitchen. There he 
found her ensconced behind the old housekeeper. Kettle, 
who was busy peeling potatoes for the dinner. 

“ Did you ever hear such a foolish thing. Kettle? And 
yet papa insists that I shall go and sit there for a Ma- 
donna; and a Madonna, you must remember, was the 
mother of God. I ain’t a mother I Papa, you really 
must think I am crazy !” and the girl commenced to cry. 

“See here. Kettle,” said the doctor, “you have got 


MAGDALENS AND MADONNAS. 


93 


some sense, and I will leave it to you if I am right or 
wrong. Ferris wants me to bring Renata so that he can 
use her face as a model in moulding or cutting his 
statue. I promised him I would bring her this morning, 
and now the little fool don’t want to go.” 

Ah, doctor ! why should you worry the child, if she 
does not want to go ? Let him find another face ; there 
are plenty of pretty American ladies who would be glad 
to be his model.” 

“Because,” said Renata, sobbing, “they are too good 
to sit in his studio and be cut into stone, and afterwards 
stared at by all the common people. But as I am only a 
Dutch girl, why it makes no difference.” 

“ They have got too much sense to keep up such a fuss 
about nothing as you are doing, that’s certain.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Kettle, laughing, “ they have got lots 
of sense. Why don’t you take one for a wife ?” 

“Yes, there is that Miss Dent, who makes such beautiful 
biscuit, — she is a Yankee girl, take her. She is dread- 
fully smart, and has what you admire, big feet.” 

“ She’ll read the newspaper in bed for you every morn- 
ing ; or Mrs. Bovine will get you one, with handsome 
feet, like she has.” 

“ And put on a clean pair of white silk stockings every 
hour.” 

The doctor turned his head from one to the other as 
they bandied their phrases at him, then exclaimed, “ Stop 
your nonsense, both of you ! You know very well I never 
said anything about taking a wife ; there are more women 
now in the house than I can manage. And, Renata, put 
on your bonnet and come with me, and if Ferris wants 
you to sit for a Magdalen ” 

“Magdalen!” said Renata, brightening up, “why, 
papa, you said a Madonna. ’ ’ 

9 


94 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Magdalen! a Magdalen 1 you sheeps-head, you!” 
thundered the doctor; “that is what he wants you for.” 

“ Ah, well, that is a very different thing. I don’t mind 
sitting for that poor creature, but a Madonna never.” 

The two started off and walked slowly down the street. 
Occasionally the girl would stop and express some doubts 
that perhaps, after all, when she was there, Ferris might 
make her sit for a Madonna instead of a Magdalen. But 
the doctor would coax away these scruples, and the two 
would start forward again, although it must be confessed 
at a very slow pace. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SOWING THE WIND. 

The mansion of Mrs. Denham, which, like the rest of 
the aristocratic residences in Boshville, was surrounded by 
a large garden and thickly-set ailantus trees, was, on this 
day, the scene of a very interesting dinner-party, which 
that lady told a friend would one day be an important 
historical event. The ostensible purpose of the dinner 
was a complimentary meeting on account of Major 
Denham’s sudden departure for the South, but the hidden 
gist of the affair was a meeting of persons engaged in a 
desperate and hazardous enterprise, and who came to- 
gether to compare notes, inspire courage in the weak- 
hearted, and make arrangements for future action. A 
glance at the guests at the table would show that Mrs. 
Denham had selected them with great knowledge of. 
character. There were the Binghams, of Kentucky, — one 


SOWING THE WIND. 


95 


a colonel in the militia and the other a major in the 
regular army, — both fighting men, and skillful with bowie- 
knife and rifle. They were each over six feet high, and 
possessed the long, thin lips, square jaws, and severe look 
so characteristic of men with ungovernable passions. 
There was also Colonel John Shadow, a handsome young 
man of about five and twenty, whose oval face, large 
black eyes, and slimi athletic figure excited universal 
admiration, but who- also had gained some notoriety in 
having killed a darkey servant, — one of his father’s slaves, 
— in a fit of passion, because the fellow refused to obey 
him. Colonel Shadow had gained his epaulettes and his 
rank from the filibuster Walker, to whom he acted as aide- 
de-camp in the Nicaraguan expedition ; and Shadow would 
have shared the fate of his leader, had it not been for a 
Spanish woman, who concealed him and aided him in his 
escape. Mr. Leslie was also of the party, and he seemed 
to find himself in very appropriate company, for he too, 
it was whispered, had occasionally ‘‘drawn a bead” on — 
i.e. shot down — an Indian ; and when one of the Binghams 
would tell of an adventure, the old man, warmed with the 
wine, would bring out some old half-forgotten “Injun” 
fight. The only non-combatant present was Mr. Maple ; 
and when it was considered that the hostess was a Roman 
Catholic and the gentleman a Protestant preacher, it will 
be seen that in this instance the proverb was illustrated 
that “Politics makes strange bedfellows.” 

“Where is Harry?” said Leslie to the hostess. 

“Oh, he is always late,” said that lady; “what with 
his law and his lady-love, I don’t get to see much of him.” 

“ Who is the lady-love?” inquired Mr. Maple. 

“The last one is Miss Knappe,” said the lady, rubbing 
her nose as though partly vexed at the remembrance; 
“a very pretty girl, but Dutch as krout.” 


96 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“The Dutch are a staple article here in the West,” 
said one of the Binghams. 

“They make good soldiers,” said George. “I have 
about twenty in my company ; they are clean, sober, 
prompt, and reliable men. I like them very much.” 

“Give me Irishmen,” said Shadow; “they have got 
more dash, vim, and love of fight, than any other for- 
eigner I ever met with.” 

“Irish!” interrupted Leslie “(141 thank you for the 
sauce), Irish ! I wish they were all in Africa I Fight ! of 
course they can fight, but so can a wild-cat or a wolf. 
Why, confound them 1 they cost us millions every year, 
to build jails, police courts, and work-houses for them, 
simply because they love whisky and fighting. Now, sir, 
a good soldier, in my opinion, is a man who does not love 
fighting, but does it from a sense of duty and necessity ; 
and then he does it without anger and consequently with 
more skill.” 

“Try the Catawba, major,” said Mrs. Denham. “Leslie, 
you are about half right. The Irish are well enough for 
modern warfare. You want a man at twenty dollars a 
month, who can walk thirty miles in a day, live on spoiled 
pork, sleep in the mud, carry a pack on his back weighing 
seventy pounds, and when the time comes to throw away 
his knapsack and blaze away at something which, in the 
far distance, is trying to hurt him. That is modern war- 
fare, and the Irish are good enough for that.” 

“ Provided you have intelligent Americans for officers,” 
said Mr. Maple, who was anxious to say something. 

“In the North and West,” said Major Bingham, 
haughtily, “you have got a pretty thick substratum of 
both Dutch and Irish, if they are of any use to you.” 

“ They are better than your substratum of niggers, any- 
how,” said Leslie, with some warmth. 


sowmc THE WIND, 


97 


This remark was received with a loud laugh by the 
Kentuckians, who immediately complimented Leslie for 
standing up for his part of the country. 

“Oh, I was born in Georgia, so I know something of 
both sides of the question ; and if there is a worthless, 
unreliable element to depend upon, it is your nigger ele- 
ment ! And I’ll tell you one thing: you look out, for 
they’ll serve you a mean trick yet, you see if they don’t.” 

“Pshaw!” said Mrs. Denham. “What do you sup- 
pose we care for the niggers ; if they revolt, the women 
will take care of them. I can use a revolver as well as 
the next one, and so can any Southern woman. No, you 
need not be alarmed on that score. Take a little brandy, 
Leslie ; you do not care for sour wine.” 

“Well,” said Shadow, “I think that after producing 
the all-knowing, skinning, howling, delving, and univer- 
sal Yankee, we can afford to be silent over the defects of 
other nations.” 

“ Do you include Mrs. Bovine in your category of dis- 
agreeable Yankees?” inquired Mr. Maple softly. 

Shadow laughed and replied, “Oh, the women have 
more sense than the men ; but whether a large pumpkin 
is better than a small one, is a question for a cook to 
decide.” 

“ I’ll tell you how it comes that the Yankee women are 
smarter than the men,” said Leslie. 

“There’s too much intermarriage in those little Yankee 
towns ; you can find villages in which, from the doctor to 
the grave-digger, they are all blood-relations,” interrupted 
Mrs. Denham. 

“No, no; that ain’t it. That may be true or not; it 
would not affect my theory. In the first place, the soil in 
Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and other places is about 
six inches deep ; all below that is pure rock ; so that even 

9 * 


98 


THE LOST MODEL. 


the sheep wear their teeth out in browsing the moss off 
the rocks, which they call grass. Of course, agricultural 
pursuits being of no use, they must rely upon manufac- 
turing. Now, here in the West and South, we have all 
soil and no rock ; we grow oaks while they are cultivating 
weeds. The men of any enterprise, finding their native 
States good places to emigrate from, come West, make 
their fortunes, marry, and settle down ; and, of course, 
upon the women devolve many of the duties which prop- 
erly belong to the man. Hence, at home, the Yankee 
woman is superior to the man.” 

‘‘I don’t mind their superiority,” rejoined Shadow; 
“but what I dislike is, that their maxim of life — the great 
first cause of this existence — is to make money. For in- 
stance, a clergyman is about the last man in the community 
who should trouble himself about making money; and yet, 
look at their great clerical gun, the Reverend Obadiah 
Shrub. He is a man of good literary ability, combining 
humor with pathos ; and has sufficient dramatic talent and 
gift of the gab to make his Sunday sermons a first-class 
literary amusement. Being a shrewd man by nature, he 
becomes proprietor of a newspaper, and the sermons which 
on Sundays draw out the tears and smiles of the congrega- 
tion in church, are printed for the benefit of those who 
live too far away to attend, or who, liking mental fire- 
works, have a prejudice against seeing them fired off in a 
pulpit. Thus, he makes a handsome income as preacher, 
and as religious (?) journalist also a very handsome share 
of profit ; for, to-day, there is nothing pays so well as an 
advertisement ; and a newspaper, as you are aware, even a 
religious one, is one-fourth advertisements. I have seen 
them as sculptors and painters at Rome, as musical stu- 
dents in Germany, and studying surgery at Paris; but the 
universal measure of a work of art was its price, and of 


SOWING THE WIND. 


99 


the professor’s merit the fees he received. And I do not 
suppose that the wildest imagination could conceive of a 
Yankee monk.” 

There was a long pause of silence, Shadow’s subject 
having made the rest thoughtful ; and in the mean time 
the servants carried away the dinner- plates and table- 
cloth, and left only fruit and decanters of wine upon the 
table. 

‘^Well,” said Mrs. Denham, have done with 

them.” And this seemed to be the signal for business. 
Papers were produced and quietly read to each other, and 
George laid a large map upon the table, and to one of the 
Binghams traced with his fingers certain places, which he 
called ‘ ^points d ’ appui. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Denham, in reply to a question from Leslie, ex- 
plained to him, in her voluble manner, the wrongs of the 
South and the perfidy of the Yankees. She told, in an 
exasperated manner, how the Yankees, with their high 
tariffs, sat down by the gates of commerce, and taxed 
everything that came in for their own benefit ; how they 
conspired to steal the property of the Southerner, the one- 
sided laws they made, their want of political honesty, 
their avarice, their meanness, their arrogance, their grow- 
ing strength by dint of living off the produce of the 
South, and getting two prices (one from the State and the 
other from the purchaser) for their own wooden nutmegs 
and coagulated clocks ; how every man had his price, and 
how they increased like flies and locusts until the Southern 
sky was darkened with them. 

When Leslie rather tauntingly asked how they were 
going to help themselves, the answer was equally ready 
and the voice equally voluble. 

They would divide and separate ; a line should be 
drawn through the so-called Union, and it should be the 


lOO 


THE LOST MODEL. 


boundary between the dis-United States. On this side — 
our side — the Southern side — time-honored slavery, ladies 
and gentlemen, large estates, freedom, oratory, and a 
martial population of white men; on the other side, a 
hodge-podge of dough-faces, grocery-keepers, Dutchmen, 
atheists, political hucksters, niggers, white trash, and 
penny newspapers. 

Leslie suggested that before that took place, a very 
bitter ai^d bloody fight would take place. 

Mrs. Denham snapped her fingers at the foe. Rapidly 
on her fingers she counted the States which were ready 
for the revolt, and could throw a half-million of men into 
the field. Besides, the North had no soldiers; all the 
educated officers were from the South. And they had the 
navy, too, for all the ships of war, owing to Secretary 

’s foresightedness, were away off in distant waters, 

and before they could be recalled the battle would have 
been fought and won. 

‘‘A very pretty theory,” interrupted Leslie, ^‘and, like 
all women’s plans, no room for an ‘if.’ Do you know 
that manhood makes a soldier, and not education?” 

“Well, that’s precisely what the Southern men have: 
courage and manhood in its noblest sense. You need not 
shake your head; you cannot make a soldier out of a 
counter-jumper, nor a gentleman out of a barber, though 
you try often enough to do it.” 

In the mean time a discussion had sprung up as to the 
most effective mode of settling the war by a brilliant coup 
de tonnerrcy between the Binghams and Shadow. 

“I take it,” said the major, whose voice was the loud- 
est, “that the most effective blows are those bestowed on 
the vital parts, be it of man or beast. Well, now sup- 
pose George is right, before we can do anything effectual, 
they, as they are greater numerically, surround and hold 


SOWING THE WIND. 


loi 


the periphery of the circle, while we are inside the ring. 
Now you must admit they have the most difficult position ; 
while they are watching the whole, we can concentrate 
and move along a given radius, strike, break through, and 
before they can collect their reserves we capture the 
Capitol, seize the Treasury, destroy the roads, and dictate 
a peace to them in their own legislative halls, or cripple 
them beyond the power of resistance.” 

My opinion is,” said Shadow, “they will never hold 
out that long. Why, it is simply a question of d5lars and 
cents. If the Yankee stops business to play the soldier, 
he cannot attend to his trade, consequently he will lose 
his customers; and as barter and profits are the breath 
of his nostrils, fighting won’t pay him, and he’ll soon 
quit that kind of thing.” 

Leslie laughed at the picture, but he added significantly, 
“They may sell you yet on that question. I remember 
when we had the last trouble with the Indians, a regiment 
of volunteers came from Kansas, and they camped for 
some time near Fort Clinton. Well, sir, they had a 
Yankee sutler — what they called a Green Mountain boy — 
who sold the soldiers everything from a skein of thread to 
a German sausage ; of course all this was done on trust, 
and when pay-day came some of the boys would pay up, 
but generally towards night a party of boys, pretty drunk, 
would break into his tent, drink up. his whisky, throw his 
crackers into the ditch, break his bar to pieces, an ^ 
scarcely leave a piece of whole furniture as large as a man’s 
hand. In a week, however, he would have everything 
set up again, and he would do a smashing business. He 
stood this kind of settling-day twice, without saying a 
word, but the third time he took a hatchet and a rifle, and 
of the drunken crew that came that night there was not 
one who dared to commence the fight. No, no, there is 


THE LOST MODEL. 


- * 

pretty good fighting-stuff at bottom ; they get it from the 
English. Trade, of course : they were born traders ! This 
very fellow built a saw-mill, and when he found it would 
. not pay, he sold it to the government for a fort and. a 
storehouse, at ten times its real value. You will find his 
name cited in all the New England primers, as an instance 
of what industry, perseverance, and Yankee ingenuity can 
achieve.” 

Shad(^, who had been impatiently treading the floor, 
here br^e in— “ Pshaw, Leslie, you talk as though you 
had lived all your life in an Indian fort. Why, I will in 
two days raise a regiment of a thousand men, — every man 
a gentleman, and mounted on a blood-horse, — who wdll 
come here and sack this very city before the mayor could 
be brought from his shoe shop and could draw up a reso- 
lution calling upon the city council to meet and the city 
militia to turn out and defend the city. A man who can 
take charge of a saw-mill or a lying, bragging, insurance 
company, is one thing, and a fellow of courage, spirit, 
and dash, is quite another thing. Do you know how the 
English went through the Sikhs, in their trouble& in 
India? Well, we will repeat that story on the Northern 
dough-faces.” And his eyes flashed and nostrils dilated 
at the certainty of the result. 

Oh, there is a good deal of difference between the 
men, Mr. Leslie,” said Maple, in a soft, apologetic voice. 

I remember very well that when Congress voted five 
millions to settle the bogus Buchu claim, and referred 
it for settlement to the Secretary of the Interior, my 
uncle was on quite intimate terms with old Secretary 
Bowie, of Alabama, in whose hands the matter was 
placed ; and he once offered old Bowie any sum he might 
mention simply to know the day when the claim would 
be paid off, and the old fire-eater only snorted, and said 


SOWING THE WIND. 


103 

never a word. Chivalry, after all, you know, is a great 
thing !” 

The discussion was here interrupted by the entrance of 
several gentlemen with long hair, Byronean collars, large 
shirt-cuffs, who were all addressed and introduced as 
colonels, majors, and generals, and who seemed to be 
very polite, and to place a strong accent on the word ! 
which was loudly and frequently repeated. Old Leslie 
at this point got up, made his excuses to Mrs. genham, 
who urged him in vain to stay, and then quietly left the 
room. As he passed along the hall he lit his cigar, and 
said, half aloud, to himself, ‘^Old Thundercloud was 
right when he said that ‘ White Face always made a great 
noise with his mouth,’ ” and then passed out. 

That evening Harry Denham had come home in a great 
state of excitement. The South had taken up arms, had 
driven away the civil officers of the Federal government, 
had taken possession of the arsenals, and had formed a 
provisional government for the establishment of a new 
Republic ; and his excitement was considerably heightened 
when he was told by his mother that George had resigned 
his commission in the Federal army, and had already 
received the commission of a colonel in the rebel or Con- 
federate army. A quarrel ensued. He reproached his 
mother with her furious ambition and her meddling 
spirit, which, in the vain hope of distinction for her 
favorite son, was leading them both to ruin ; and he 
added that he hoped her feelings of pride would be 
gratified when George should be hung as a traitor, or shot 
down for treason. 

‘‘See here, George,” said the mother to him, as he 
entered the room at that moment, “ Harry and I are 
quarreling upon the old theme of my ambition ; and he 
speaks of our enterprise as though we were a band 


104 


THE LOST MODEL. 


of pickpockets, and only had purses or watches in 
view.” 

Something like a shade of pity stole over the face of 
the young soldier, as he looked at Harry, and an- 
swered, — 

“Well, mother, we will not discuss that question now. 
Harry has his views, and I have mine. In a very few 
months we will be able to speak definitely as to who is 
right who is wrong.” 

“I always blamed your father for over-educating you, 
and now here is the result,” said Mrs. Denham. “ The 
time is come when the South is about to win the place 
to which she is entitled in the government of the country, 
and at this moment you have no more spirit than to sit 
down with these dough-faces rather than join the standard 
of men who are about to vindicate their right to live, to 
have their property, and be in the councils which they 
pay for and support.” 

“Stick to your books and philosophy, Harry,” said 
George, with the same shade of pity upon his open counte- 
nance j “ no one can foretell the future. We may fail, you 
know, and, as you sometimes say, we may after all be only 
fighting for a shadow.” 

“Humph!” chimed in Mrs. Denham; “if you are a 
good boy, and please old Dr. Knappe, and his daughter 
should take a fancy to you, you might marry her, and 
then you could open an apothecary shop, and thus be 
some help to your father-in-law, — for you have never been 
much to me.” 

“Miss Knappe,” said George, lightly, “is a very 
pretty girl ; but if I were Harry I should take Miss 
Leslie. She is plumper and don’t know much, — an ex- 
cellent thing in a woman.” 

“Or you might go into the pork business, grow very 


SOWING THE WIND, 


105 

rich, and some day come to the high honor of being 
elected by the charming people as mayor of Boshville. 
Think of it : what a distinction for a Denham !” 

If you do, Harry, I hope you will write better English 
than the present Mayor Daly, who spells bearer with one 
e and a large B, and opinion with two p’s.” 

When do you leave, George?” said Harry, with an 
effort to be calm. 

‘‘In a half-hour.” 

“ Then, let me bid you good-by. It may be the last 
time I shall see you, and I cannot bear the thought of 
parting from you in anger.” 

“Come, Harry,” said George, holding him by the 
hand, “let us take the ‘stirrup-cup; if not to our enter- 
prise, why, Harry, old boy, we will drink to ‘Auld 
Lang Syne.’ ” 

The face of Harry Denham was white with suppressed 
emotion, and the hand that held the glass shook like a 
leaf; but he said, with the same earnest, constrained 
manner, “ When I think of you as an officer of the rebels, 
— one who has taken up arms to fight the mother who 
nurtured and educated you, — I cannot help but despise 
you from the bottom of my heart; but as a brother, 
knowing as I do your generous, impulsive nature, your 
incapability of doing that which your conscience pro- 
nounced a wrong, and when I see you with the old boyish, 
ignorant confidence, rushing to your ruin, I have no 
words to express my feelings^ ” 

He paused, as his emotion seemed to choke him, then 
touching the glass of his brother, he drank off the wine, 
shook him warmly by the hand, and went out of the room 
without saying a word. 

The parting seemed to dash the high spirits of George; 
and his mother, who watched his expressive countenance, 

10 


io6 


THE LOST MODEL. 


rallied him upon being influenced by Harry’s sentiment- 
alities; but the confident look soon returned, and his face 
shone the brighter for the tears that glittered in his eyes. 
And he added with a sigh, “No, mother, for us there 
must be no such word as fear or regret.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

BOSHVILLE CAN AFFORD TO KEEP A SCULPTOR. 

“Turn your head slightly downwards ; don’t frown; 
let your lips be at rest; there, that gives a thinking repose 
which to the artist is very beautiful.” 

The speaker was Ferris, the sculptor of Boshville, — or 
Andrew Jackson Ferris, as he usually wrote his name. 
Ferris had been educated in Europe, — in short, had spent 
nearly the best part of his life in Rome, and had come back 
to his native city, Boshville, more at the earnest solicita- 
tion of his wife and relatives than from his own choice. 
While abroad he had supplied many of his wealthy coun- 
trymen with copies of antique statues, and had also fur- 
nished the capitol with a full-length figure of De Soto, 
which had been very much admired. His masterpiece, 
however, was the marble figure of Justice which sur- 
mounted the dome of the State legislative building ; and 
which represented a beautiful woman, with bare arms and 
breast, her head surmounted with the cap of Liberty, with 
bandaged eye, her right hand holding a drawn sword, 
while her left held aloft a pair of scales, and beneath her 
feet a broken crown, a chain, and a bent sceptre. Ferris 


BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 107 

received twenty thousand dollars from his delighted coun- 
trymen for this noble work of art ; and, what was equally 
advantageous, he received more orders for portrait-busts 
than he could finish in a lifetime. The head and figure 
of this Justice were very much admired, except by Mrs. 
Ferris, his wife, who told her friends in strict confidence 
that it was taken from a miserable, poor peasant-girl in 
Rome, who, she was afraid, was not as good as she ought 
to have been. Whereas, the arms and shoulders were 
really fine, as her husband always used hers as a model, 
— this was always modestly added. Ferris had been living 
in Boshville for the last ten years, and he was so highly 
esteemed by his fellow-citizens that they bought his cut 
marbles and placed them in their gardens, and whenever 
distinguished strangers came to the city, the atelier of 
Ferris was pointed out as one of the many beauties of the 
city. 

On one of the principal avenues of Boshville you would 
come across his modest-looking brick house, with a large 
yard in front, every foot of which was covered with huge 
pieces of rock and stone of every description, and over 
the door was the sign of “Ferris, Sculptor.” These 
stones, or, as the natives called them, “indigenous rocks,” 
had been gratuitously supplied him by the Boshvillians. 
It came about in this way : As the country was opened up 
around Boshville, and the hills broken open for bowlders, 
and the earth pierced in all directions for oil or water, 
various kinds of rocks were suddenly revealed, each of 
which, to the discoverer, was going to be a mine of wealth. 
The following colloquy would take place between Ferris 
and the enthusiastic discoverer of new rock : 

“ Oh, say ! Oh, say, Ferris !” 

“ Well, what do you want now, Mr. ? I forget 

your name.” 


io8 


THE LOST MODEL. 


^^What is the name of that fine marble which them 
I-talians brag so much about, and you think so fine?” 

“ Carrara.” 

“Yes, that’s it. Well, in a few weeks I’ll send you a 
block which will beat it all hollow. Give me the direc- 
tions.” 

“All right ; only don’t send a big piece.” And in a 
month would come along a huge block of granite, or sand- 
stone, which Ferris, with a sigh, would pitch among the 
rest in his front yard; and which he threatened to build 
a pyramid with, and christen it Boshville Carrara. 

The lower floor of the house served him as an atelier, 
and, almost filled as it was with Bacchantes, Apollos, 
Hercules, and quantities of casts of all descriptions, it was 
a very picturesque studio or workshop. All the windows 
were covered with heavy curtains which excluded the 
daylight, but from a skylight the golden radiance poured 
down in a line as straight as the ladder of Jacob. Seated 
in front of a mass of wet clay sat the sculptor, Ferris, 
cutting and moulding with his hands the pliant brown 
mass. On a wooden elevation, with his arms extended 
and leaning upon the rest, stood the model, who, on this 
occasion, was our acquaintance Parthee; as the bright 
light broke upon his head and shoulders, it revealed the 
beautiful curves of the face, the graceful and lithe figure, 
and solid repose of every limb. By the side of the sculp- 
tor sat John (as he signed himself), the archbishop of 
Boshville. He was a small man with an upturned face, 
expressing confidence, zeal, faith, and the perpetual smile 
of one who is lost in wonder and admiration of the eternal 
fitness and beauty of things here below. 

“ There is as much art in moulding drapery sometimes 
as in the flesh itself,” said Ferris, in answer to a question. 
“ Of course I mean that disposition of it upon the human 


BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 


109 

figure which, while it attempts to hide, still reveals the 
limb beneath.” 

‘‘Having been educated to consider the mode improper 
to be shown in public, you must not grumble if it inter- 
feres somewhat with our appreciation of ancient art. Be- 
sides, my dear Ferris, when you carve a statue, you are 
not doing it to please the Romans or Greeks, but the 
Christians; then give us works which are in harmony 
with our ideas, and not those which we would like very 
much indeed if we were Athenians, but which we don’t 
like at all, being Americans !” 

Ferris gave a very energetic dig, with his knife, into 
the clay, and threw the piece he dug out down upon the 
board, like a man who seeks to vent his impatience upon 
something. 

“ What do you think of my model, sir?” asked Ferris, 
somewhat abruptly, of the archbishop. 

“Quite interesting,” answered the latter in Italian, 
and running his eyes critically over the face and figure as 
he proceeded. “And that is the repo§e, I presume, which 
you artists admire so much in the human figure. I can- 
not say that I like it, it seems so*expressive of indifference 
and disdain. I prefer the animation and curve of the 
flame. His eyes are large, but very cold, are they not ? 
The chin is very good, but a little too expressive of self- 
will ; and the lips are thin, — good lips for a scholar. The 
forehead is low, fine. How beautifully the light and shadow 
set off the arching eyebrows! The cheek-bones are a 
little too high. I think I am prejudiced against that 
peculiarity, as I notice that my parishioners who have 
that prominence give us a good deal of trouble : am I 
right? The neck is slim. The antique busts have always 
struck me as peculiar in the stolid thickness of their 
necks, — even their women are almost bovine in that 


no 


THE LOST MODEL. 


respect. I think upon a young, imaginative woman,” he 
added with a sigh, ‘‘your model would have a very danger- 
ous influence.” 

“And yet, so far as my observation goes, sir, he has not 
shown much partiality for the fair sex; although ” 

The door opened, and Dr. Knappe and his daughter 
entered. The sculptor rose, buttoned up his military 
frock-coat, and extended both hands to the doctor. 

“I am glad you have come. After so many promises 
and no appearance I had almost given you up. You 
know the archbishop?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the doctor, smiling; “I have very 
often bored the archbishop with my troublesome art 
matters. My daughter Renata. ” 

The sculptor made a very courtly bow to that blushing 
young lady, and the archbishop took her by the hand and 
patted the little fingers with a fatherly air. 

“Miss Knappe,” said Ferris, “I am very glad your 
father has brought you along, as I have been desirous of 
seeing you for some time. At Mr. Leslie’s party I took 
an artist’s liberty of staring at you, and have been won- 
dering ever since when I should again have that pleasure.” 

“ Oh, papa made me come this time, or I don’t think 
I should have been here, Mr. Ferris.” 

“That is not very flattering. Miss Knappe. But if it 
is a fair question, may I ask you why ?” 

“It was not on your account,” said the girl, who had 
evidently made up her mind to take the bull by the horns; 
“ but father said you wanted me as a model for a Madonna ; 
and as I am not handsome, and don’t look a bit like the 
Madonnas do, it is only nonsense to make me sit for one, 
and I hope you won’t ask me, Mr. Ferris.” 

“Let me put a case to you. Miss Knappe,” said the 
archbishop. “Supposing our sculptor, Ferris, here, has 


BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 


Ill 


to cut a bas-relief representing that beautiful passage 
in the Bible where our Saviour calls the little children 
around Him, and he comes to you and says, ‘ Miss Knappe, 
come and sit for one of the little children,’ what objec- 
tion would you raise to that?” 

“ That is different, sir. A child ! Oh, yes, very will- 
ingly. But a Madonna is the mother of God, and if you 
give her a face like mine, people would laugh at you and 
be angry at me.” 

So far so good, my child. Well, what do you say to 
Mary Magdalen?” 

“ I would sit for her, sir, because Mary Magdalen was 
a poor unfortunate woman.” 

The sculptor rubbed his hands, and added, sotto voce, 

I can get a hundred young ladies who will sit for a Juno, 
Venus, Hebe, or a Madonna, but not one for a Magdalen.” 

Here the doctor, who thought that his daughter was 
monopolizing too much the attention of the gentlemen, 
broke in with, “Is that so, Ferris, that you can get plenty 
of models for Madonnas, but not for Magdalens? Well, 
you see, we are all kings and queens here j we walk, dress, 
and look like sovereigns; but, unfortunately, we don’t 
think like them. Now, Renata is not troubled with too 
much .sense, still she knows that fine feathers make fine- 
looking birds, but it don’t make them sing.” 

“That is what the poet says,” interposed the arch- 
bishop; “the fruit-trees are cripples among trees, and the 
song-birds are in general very plainly clad.” 

“ Now, tell me,” asked the doctor, inquiringly, of the 
archbishop, “you have traveled a great deal, and have 
seen the world, — not only our new portion of it, but the 
old one in Europe, — is there not a great want of harmony 
between the way we dress and the way we live, and 
what we really know ? For instance, I am called out to 


/ 


II2 


THE LOST MODEL. 


visit a patient sometimes, and he lives in one of those 
handsome marble-fronted houses on Broadway. Now, 
here, I say to myself, is a rich gentleman, and I expect 
to find a man of culture, and, in some respects, answering 
to the imposing appearance of his house.” 

fine cage, and you expect the bird to correspond.” 

Well, I not only find the walls bare of pictures, but 
the owner of this mansion a very unfit being for such a 
splendid dwelling-place. In short, I find him a man 
without an idea beyond his own material comfort, and to" 
have the soul and tastes of a footman. Now tell me, that 
thing does not occur in the old country, does it?” 

Not exactly,” answered the archbishop; “ the man is 
oftener, there, as superior to his house, as here he is 
inferior. But if we go a step further, my dear doctor, 
and compare the exterior of the man to the inner being, 
the disparagement of our citizen in a fine house ceases. I 
have very often found, over there, that the outside of the 
man was good, — that is to say, he had courtesy, dignity, 
knowledge, grace, and fine taste, — but his heart, for all 
that, was full of vanity, self-conceit, and selfishness, and 
sometimes even cruelty ; while here, I find men who are 
vulgar, ignorant, pretentious, and vain-glorious, who 
nevertheless are very large-hearted, and are never indif- 
ferent to the troubles of their fellow-creatures.” 

“Is that really so?” asked the puzzled doctor, and his 
large blue eyes gazed vacantly in astonishment. The 
archbishop took out his snuff-box, and quietly took a 
pinch, and the sculptor smiled at the perplexed air of 
the doctor. 

“And yet it seems to me,” commenced the latter, 

“ that after all we may judge those people wrongfully. Be- 
cause, where a people are surrounded with noble works of 
art and by high-cultured nobles, who love these beautiful 


BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 


creations and preserve them for the education and benefit 
of the people, there the people certainly must reflect the 
influence of such beauty and nobleness. Now, in Rome 
or Florence for instance ” 

“Why, my dear doctor,” here interrupted Ferris, 
“ the statues of antiquity and the pictures of Raphael 
have no more moral influence upon the people of those 
cities than the grand figure of Neptune has upon the fish 
which swim and play in the fountain at its feet.” 

This the doctor considered as a dreadful heresy, for 
beauty in his estimation was more precious than truth or 
justice. And he immediately launched forth into a very 
elaborate and critical exposition of the mission and effect 
of art; the archbishop encouraging him with approving 
nods and smiles, while Ferris accompanied him with a 
running commentary of ironical examples. 

In the mean time Parthee had descended from his 
wooden throne, and having procured a piece of wet clay 
and placed it upon a pedestal, was very seriously engaged 
in modeling a small head ; while Renata, blushing and 
smiling with pleasure, was sitting for his model. 

“When will the red and yellow flowers come out on 
the hillside, and the tops of the trees be white with buds ?” 
asked Parthee. 

“When the sun calls them,” said Renata, demurely. 
“Besides, you are a gardener, you ought to know. How 
nice you are doing that ; if you have talent for an artist, 
why do you spoil your life and waste your time at Mr. 
Leslie’s?” 

“ Spoil ! I ain’t spoiling. Your upper lip is too short.” 

“God made it, and you must not find fault with your 
Master’s work.” 

“ Your forehead. Miss Knappe, is too high and broad 
for a woman.” 


THE LOST MODEL. 


114 

For which woman ? What nonsense. My forehead 
is large if you compare it with Miss Sallie Leslie’s, as 
there is scarcely room on hers for her eyebrows. Perhaps 
you admire that young lady?” 

‘^Oh, no. That girl is in love with fine clothes; she 
frowns at me, and I laugh at her. Now I shall make 
your face without any dimples and without any laugh in 
it,” and he kneaded with his knuckles the clay figure. 

‘‘I saw you yesterday come down Baldhill; isn’t that a 
beautiful place ? Father and I go there very often. There 
are pine-trees on the top, looking like sentinels. And 
you can see the beautiful river for miles, and the Ken- 
tucky hills, and the great forest with its front-garden of a 
valley. And so you don’t like Miss Leslie?” 

“1 don’t think about it. This is the way you should 
wear your hair.” 

‘‘Thank you, that looks more like a horse-tail than a 
human head of hair. Is my right ear as large as that ?” 

“And so you are come to sit for the Magdalen that 
Ferris is cutting for the cathedral ?’ ’ 

“Yes. Isn’t it funny? You and I will stand for 
years in that large silent church, long after we are dead. 
That makes me shudder.” 

“You will be near me; I will protect you, and when 
the church is empty I will tell you a story.” 

“ What, the story you promised, — about where you 
come from, and what the people do there? Mercy ! you 
must tell that to me here, and not to my statue. Tell it 
me now. I’ll give you the commencement in German. 
‘ Es war ein Koenig.’ Now you have made my head look 
exactly like that Greek girl there, Hebe, or whatever you 
call her.” 

“ Yes ; and supposing I was to place my finger upon 
your forehead, and by repeating three words very loud 


BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 


115 

was to change you, as you sit here, into a statue. ’ ’ And he 
raised his finger in an impressive manner over her head. 

‘‘Don’t do it, please, Parthee, don’t do it; you don’t 
know what might happen,” pleaded the girl. 

“I didn’t know that your daughter knew my friend, 
Parthee, here,” said Ferris, whose attention was attracted 
by the voice of that young lady. 

“Oh, yes,” answered the doctor; “he has often been 
to see me. It is singular that Leslie should have taken a 
fancy to him.” 

“ Leslie has a son, — a very wild^boy they say, — who 
found our guest, here, among the Apaches, and took such a 
fancy to him that they were inseparable. And old Leslie 
still thinks the boy will come back, — for it is now four or 
five years since he left Boshville for the plains, — to see 
his old companion, if not for the sake of his home and 
family. But, excuse me, I must call my wife down to 
keep Miss Renata company, while I take a first sitting.” 

He rang a side bell, and a few minutes afterwards a 
pompous little lady, dressed rather showily, entered and 
greeted the guests, and was introduced to Miss Knappe as 
Mrs. Ferris. While the latter looked at and talked to each 
other, Ferris showed the doctor the drawing for the new 
group which tfie archbishop had ordered in marble, and 
which consisted of two figures, — one, Christ seated, while 
at his feet, with an upturned face, was kneeling Mary 
Magdalen. The doctor surveyed the picture critically, 
and, though not very enthusiastically, he nevertheless 
praised the design and the idea. The next step was to 
persuade Miss Knappe to occupy the little wooden eleva- 
tion directly under the blaze of light which poured down 
from the skylight, and upon which the model was always 
placed. It needed a good deal of coaxing from the 
sculptor, and promises on the part of his wife that she 


ii6 


THE LOST MODEL. 


would sit quite close to her, and one or two ejaculations 
in German of ^‘sheeps- head,” on the part of the irritated 
doctor, before this was achieved to the satisfaction of the 
artist. And when she was finally seated, with her hair 
arranged, falling in golden streams over her shoulders, 
she begged so hard for something to do that Mrs. Ferris 
finally got her some woolen thread and knitting-needles, 
and the young model worked her fingers in silent rapidity 
with a glow of satisfaction upon her face. 

Fine head, but no bust,” said Mrs. Ferris to her hus- 
band. And she complacently drew her jeweled hand over 
her own motherly-looking bosom. The sculptor at a 
distance surveyed critically his task ; the doctor, with 
head on one side, also looked inquiringly at the model 
and at the drawing ; while the little, bright gray eyes of 
the archbishop scanned the faces, figures, and surround- 
ings with that dubious smile which, in late years, was so 
often seen on the face of his eminence. Parthee, who sat 
upon the pedestal of a plaster Silenus, saw this look, and 
tried to explain it to Renata afterwards by telling her' that 
the archbishop looked like Bing, the stage-manager of the 
Boshville theatre, although Renata declared that there 
was not the slightest resemblance between ^e men. 

As the doctor handed the arcnbishop inro his carriage, 
which had been waiting at the door the last hour for him, 
the latter said, You never come to see me ; and there is 
my picture of the ‘Deliverance of St. Peter,’ which was 
sent me from Florence, you do not come and admire like 
a true art-amateur. ’ ’ 

The doctor, in excusing himself, added, rather bung- 
lingly, that being a Lutheran he did not know if the arch- 
bishop would care to talk with him. The latter shrugged 
his shoulders, settled himself carefully upon the cushioned 
seat, and then replied, “You surely, doctor, are never 


A MAN^S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK, nj 

angry with your patients because they get sick or are 
cripples? No. Well!”^^^nd, waving his hand, the 
carriage drove off, and the doctor repeated to himself the 
archbishop’s words, as though he was trying to find the 
answer to a conundrum. 


CHAPTER X. 

A man’s profession is sometimes a cloak. 

*^Why, Renata, child, are you home?” said Kettle, 
as she bustled through the dining-room, and discovered 
that young lady seated upon the sofa, her bonnet still on, 
and the girl lost in a little reverie. 

*^Ja, Kettle.” 

Who brought you home ?” No answer. 

What dost think of so seriously, my pet ?” 

NichfSy K.ett\e, gar mchfs.'' (Nothing.) 

‘‘ Come here, and let me take your bonnet off. Your 
father says that Mr. Ferris is making a very beautiful 
statue, and that this little head is the model. Who gave 
you that flower ? JVu ! nu I why are you so pale ?” 

Tired, Kettle, very tired. Is tea ready?” 

‘‘Yes; but you must wait awhile, for company is 
coming. The handsome preacher, Mr. Maple, is coming 
to tea.” 

“ Ach, Gott, Kettle ! I can’t bear that man ; he stares 
so. Send me some tea up-stairs. As paj^a invited him, 
he can entertain him.” 

“That cannot be,” answered the old housekeeper; 
“the doctor has just been called away to some person 

II 


ii8 


THE LOST MODEL. 


very dangerously sick, and it will be late before he returns. 
He told me to tell you to excuse him to Mr. Maple.” 

“Ach, Kettle 1 what will I do? A' whole evening with 
those cat’s eyes staring at me will kill me.” She paused 
and thought a few moments ; then suddenly jumping up, 
she cried, ‘‘I know. Kettle, what to do : I will go for Mrs. 
Bovine; she will be delighted to have a new flirtation.” 
And catching up her bonnet she hurried out after that lady. 

Portia Bovine, wife of Dr. John Quincy Adams Bo- 
vine, was one of the celebrities of Boshville. While her 
husband was filling his time with scientific pursuits, and 
gaining fame for his accomplishments and triumphs in 
that quarter, his wife, having no children, sought her 
amusement in the social circle. She had gained quite a 
reputation for her skill in a flirtation. Of all the virtuous, 
high-bred ladies of Boshville who danced up this perilous 
road with ease, and always came back with safety, Mrs. 
Bovine took the lead. If there is any pretipice in the 
neighborhood of a flirtation for a virtuous lady, Mrs. 
Bovine had danced on the edge of it a hundred times, 
and had never fallen over once. She had whirled along 
that dizzy path with nearly all the good-looking males 
of Boshville, and, as I stated before, had always returned 
safe and sound. She had a cool head and a sure foot. 
She had no beauty ; in fact, she was almost ugly ; and, 
so far as intellect goes, no one had ever seen her read- 
ing a book. But she was vivacious; she felt kindly 
towards the masculine race, and you felt this kindness in 
her presence; although afterwards you called yourself a 
fool for being influenced by it. But she possessed a nat- 
ural gift, which had contributed to her name, and added 
a charm to her otherwise homely person. And this gift — 
be it said sotto voce — was a small foot and a large limb. 
Considering that the word leg was never pronounced in 


A AfAN^S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK, ng 

polite society in Boshville, necessity, when called upon to 
speak of it, always designating it as a limb, it would be 
difficult to account for the fact how this esoteric beauty of 
Mrs. Bovine’s became known ; but, nevertheless, it was as 
familiar a truth as that the town-clock was a very unrelia- 
ble time-piece. Every man and woman in Boshville knew 
of it, except the doctor, her husband, who is said to have 
denied its existence. And yet, if the good man had pre- 
served his wife’s dry goods bills, his incredulity would 
have received a very severe shock. For there was one 
item which occurred very frequently, and accompanied 
with such figures as, if the doctor had taken the trouble 
to read them, he would at once, as the lawyers say, have 
been put upon inquiry. This item was silk stockings. 
Whenever Mr. Furbelow, the great haberdasher and dry 
goods dealer of Boshville, received any very fine silk 
stockings from Paris, he immediately notified Mrs. Bo- 
vine, who came immediately and carried off the article 
triumphantly. Of course, the word ‘‘stocking” never 
occurred either in Mr. Furbelow’s bills or in his corres- 
pondence with Mrs. Bovine; her delicacy — in fact, Bosh- 
ville etiquette — requiring that such articles should have a 
more elegant and ideal name. Hence they appeared always 
under the flattering titles of warm-tinted silk cover- 
lets,” or “superfine laced-topped cases;” and this 'was 
the reason, perhaps, that the doctor never found out his 
wife’s expenditures in that respect, and the natural cause 
of these outlays of money. What influence this invisible 
but ever-present limb exercised upon the Boshville mind 
it is difficult to explain; one thing is certain, that the 
owner of it could get up a flirtation quicker than all the 
beauties of Boshville, even if the other part of the story 
was true, that these affairs were dreadfully short-lived., 
When Mr. Maple made his appearance that evening, 


120 


THE LOST MODEL. 


and was informed by Miss Renata, in her blushing man- 
ner, that her father was out, his eyes brightened at the 
news ; but when she added that she had prevailed upon 
Mrs. Bovine to come and help entertain the guest, he 
regretted that she had taken that trouble, in a voice which 
carried conviction with it. 

didn’t know that you were acquainted with each 
other,” said Renata, as she saw Mrs. Bovine exchange 
greetings with the guest. 

*‘0h, yes,” they both cried at once; “we are very 
well acquainted ! ’ ’ 

But they said nothing of the violent flirtation which 
was the result of their acquaintance, in which, while one 
fenced with his eyes, the other parried with her limb, and 
that so far it was a drawn battle. 

“ Did you hear the news?” inquired Mr. Maple of his 
neighbor, Mrs. Bovine ; and upon that lady declaring she 
had not seen a newspaper for a week, and was as ignorant 
as a moth of what the world was doing, the former re- 
plied, — 

“Art is about to receive a new star in the firmament or 
galaxy of its beauties. I have been credibly informed 
that our young hostess has condescended to sit for a statue, 
which the good bishop of Boshville has ordered.” 

“ Why, no. That is impossible ; surely you do not 
mean to say a statue — like — like — the Greek slave ?’ ’ And 
Mrs. Bovine blushed crimson at the nude thought. 

Renata’s peal of laughter drowned Mr. Maple’s expla- 
nation, as she cried out, — 

“ Not that kind of a statue, — only the head for the 
figure of a biissende Magdalene. Caspar, what is the 
English word for biissende?” 

“Penitent,” said Mr. Maple; “but don’t say only a 
head, when a real, beautiful, classic face is the noblest ere- 


A AfAJ\rS PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. 


I2I 


ation of art. And I must say, Miss Knappe, that your 
head is a peerless specimen of the Greek type.” 

“Don’t you let papa hear you say that, or he will think 
you are no judge of what real beauty is. Papa is right, 
after all, — you gentlemen do not know what beauty is. A 
pretty face, with red lips, red and white complexion, wavy 
hair, small feet and hands, and languid eyes is your type 
of beauty. Redwood says that is the cat’s idea of beauty ; 
the reason why one cat likes another cat. But real beauty 
is not a mere passion or liking, — it is a permanent thing, 
‘ like religion.” 

“ Why, Renata, you really commence to talk like your 
father,” said Mrs. Bovine; “those two men, the doctor 
and Mr. Redwood, are making you as old-fashioned as 
they are themselves^.” 

The old housekeeper here announced tea was ready, 
and Renata, catching hold of the arm of Caspar, as that 
young gentleman was rushing out by himself, she led the 
way to the tea-table. If Mr. Maple’s testimony was to 
be believed, there never was so interesting a tea-party. 
The tea was delightful, the bread and butter savory, the 
preserves delicious, and the fried oysters beyond expres- 
sion. He wrinkled his forehead, pouted his lips, and 
rolled his black eyes in the^most insinuating manner. 
Seated opposite Miss Knappe, and by the side of Mrs. 
Bovine, he seemed to be “ in excellent fooling.” He told 
of his college exploits, and his travels abroad, and he 
showed, with an apparently unwilling air, the daguerreo- 
type of a countess whom his eloquence had converted 
from a Catholic to a Protestant. He paid especial atten- 
tion to Renata, and when he asked for another cup of 
tea, he did it with the imploring air of a man who is 
begging for his life. 

Mrs. Bovine felt slighted ; but, like a skillful engineer, 

II* 


122 


THE LOST MODEL. 


she hid her own mortification by making a lively attack 
on the boy. Caspar had hitherto divided his attention 
between the edibles and Mr. Maple, whose stories, air, 
and brilliant talking powers had more than once made 
him forget that his favorite preserve was within reach of 
his spoon ; but suddenly to have the stylish and over- 
dressed Mrs. Bovine, with her sea-green eyes, hovering 
around him, touching him with her soft fingers and lean- 
ing affectionately upon him with her shoulder, so dis- 
tracted him that, from blushing and simpering, he re- 
lated, in a loud voice which filled the room, how the base 
ball club to which he belonged had whipped all the base 
ball players in the world. 

“Don’t open your mouth so wide, Caspar,” said Re- 
nata, quietly, in German, after she had vainly attempted 
to frown him into some kind of decorum. 

“My mouth ain’t as big as yours,” blurted out the 
boy, “when you talk about what you like. Last night 
you talked for three hours about Parthee ; you know you 
did.” 

“What, Mr. Leslie’s protege?” inquired Mrs. Bovine. 
“You must be mistaken, Caspar, my dear; your sister 
don’t talk to Mr. Leslie’s gardener.” 

“Oh, don’t she, though? It makes her awful mad if 

you tell he is only a gardener. Why, she — she ” 

Here he caught sight of his sister’s face and neck, which 
were crimson with indignation, while her blue eyes light- 
ened with scorn. “ Oh, ain’t you in the country ! Ain’t 
you among the roses and the posies !” And he clapped 
his hands with delight at his sister’s confusion. 

“You naughty boy, to tease your dear sister so before 
Mr. Maple ! But you may whisper and tell me all about 
it.” 

“He is a young man of heavenly talent,” said Maple, 


A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK, 123 

in a soft, soothing voice. “I saw a little figure he had 
modeled, which for grace and elegance was really worthy 
of the antique. I have repeatedly complimented my 
friend Mr. Leslie upon so gifted a protege. And you will 
allow me to add, Mrs. Bovine, that he is not a gardener, 
but stands upon the same footing as any of Mr. Leslie’s 
children.” 

‘ ‘ Which is no doubt a great privilege. I heard the other 
day that you were a candidate, also, for similar honors ; and 
you know Miss Sallie will one day have money !” 

The reverend gentleman had got past blushing, or 
Renata would have had company in her rosy complexion. 

She is an excellent girl,” said Maple, solemnly, while 
he folded his napkin, “and will no doubt make an excel- 
lent wife, provided she marry one of her own age and 
understanding.” 

And as Mr. Maple led Miss Renata from the tea-table 
to the parlor, he urged upon her, in a tolerably loud voice, 
the great importance of marrying one of her own age and 
similar tastes. For a young lady who marries an old man 
seeks elsewhere the youth which nature makes her covet. 

“ The reason young girls marry old men, is because, in 
general, a man has to get old before he has sufficient sense 
to take care of a wife;” said Mrs. Bovine, tartly, as she 
and Caspar brought up the rear. 

“ Good,” cried Renata, laughing; “ that is exactly what 
the Bible says. God made man first, and after he had 
lived a very long time, and was getting old, then God 
gave him a young wife. But, I think, after all, I should 
prefer a young one.” 

A little later in the evening Mrs. Bovine, in spite of 
Renata’s entreaties, excused herself and went home, taking 
with her Caspar, as an escort; and who, promising to 
return in five minutes, did not come back at alU 


124 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Renata, frightened at the coming tete-d-tete^ invited her 
guest to the piano, which the latter obeyed with alacrity, 
for among his many accomplishments, pianoforte-playing 
was, perhaps, his best. Begging her to seat herself near 
him, and always keeping her beneath his glittering eyes, 
he launched out into his favorite Chopin, rolling his head, 
and nodding to the sensuous rhythm of the composition. 

The piano, strange to say, was an object of great dis- 
like to Renata, and many a heated discussion had she 
maintained with the doctor upon this subject. There 
is no music in it,” she would say; ‘‘1 can only hear the 
ivory and wire ; it is, after all, but a kind of modulated 
drum.” 

Of this, Mr. Maple knew nothing. He had found the 
Boshville ladies very fond of the piano, and in general of 
piano-players. In nearly every house in Boshville was a 
piano, and, what is worse, four or five players to every 
piano. A stranger needed no better letter of introduction 
than to be able to execute with ease and aplomb upon this 
instrument ; and to be able to play Chopin was simply to 
be irresistible. 

“Oh, I adore Chopin!” muttered Mr. Maple, as he 
bent over, rolled, ogled, and thumped the instrument 
until the room was flooded with the rhythmical sounds. 

But all this time Renata sat with her hands folded in 
her lap, gazing at a picture, and as unmoved, outwardly, to 
the glittering eyes and dulcet tones, as a pyramid to the 
rising Nile ; and yet inwardly her heart paid the tribute 
to music by putting in images her dearest thoughts. 

She saw the stone-cutter’s atelier, and once more the 
slender figure of Parthee stood beside her, and moulded 
her features in clay ; she felt the warm breath on her 
cheek, as he told her a weird story of the deathless men, 
who came once every thousand years to the earth, and 


A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CL O A FT. 125 

carried off a mortal as one would pluck a flower from the 
meadow. 

Suddenly the music ceased, and the player fell over 
towards her, and would have fallen upon the floor, but 
she stretched forth her hands and caught him by the arm. 
His face was pale as death, and from his lips the blood 
slowly oozed. He held her firmly as a support, and stag- 
gered to the sofa, where with a sigh of pain he laid down 
as though in utter exhaustion. The poor girl was wild 
with terror at the sight, and she was going to run to the 
door and call for help, when he stopped her, and whispered 
in broken phrases that it would soon pass away, and that 
it was only a passing spasm. The girl wiped the blood 
from his lips, and, in real pity for her evidently consump- 
tive guest, smoothed back the hair upon his forehead, and, 
dipping her handkerchief into cool water, held it to his 
temples. He still held her by the hand, and, although 
his cheeks were pale, his black eyes shone with unabated 
fire. Fortunately Renata heard the latch-key in the street 
door, and rushing to it, was delighted to find Redwood. 
She almost embraced him as she cried, Ach, Gott ! Albert, 
how glad I am you are here. Father is out, and Mr. 
Maple, who came to spend the evening, has suddenly had 
an attack of bleeding at the lungs, or something of that 
sort. And I don’t know what to do. Come in, quick !” 

Redwood pulled off his overcoat, and said with a very 
marked sneer, — 

So Mr. Maple is here, is he? and has bleeding at the 
lungs? Well, Renata, just go and tell old Kettle to go 
for Jinks, the veterinary surgeon, and we will have him 
cured at once.” 

The girl felt hurt. You are cruel, Redwood; when 
one is sick it is wrong to make fun.” 

So I say,” he answered, ^nd walked into the parlor. 


126 


THE LOST MODEL. 


When they entered, the sick man was standing adjusting 
his cravat and hair at the glass ; his paleness had disap- 
peared, and except the red stain upon his lips, there was 
no trace of his late indisposition. 

“Good-evening,” said Redwood; “I regret to hear 
that you have been suddenly taken sick, — and yet, it is 
pleasant to find you so suddenly recovered.” 

Maple quailed beneath the steady look, and answered, 
while his ears tingled with the sudden rush of blood to 
them, “Oh, thank you, it was nothing very serious. 
Lately I have overstudied, and I find myself prostrated 
without being able to explain the cause. I am afraid that 
my lungs are affected.” 

“And yet,” said Redwood, “you have a chest for a 
fighting-man. If your lungs are not healthy, they are 
certainly pretty large.” 

Renata gazed in astonishment from one to the other. 

“Why, the blood ran down from his lips, and he was 
as pale as death !” ejaculated the girl. 

“Won’t you wait until the doctor returns?” asked 
Redwood, as the other turned and took up his hat and 
prepared to leave. “You may not be strong enough to 
take care of yourself.” 

Mr. Maple bowed, and said in a voice which trembled 
with suppressed emotion, — 

“I am perfectly able to take care of myself. Good- 
night, Miss Knappe, — my respects to your father,” and 
out he went. 

“ He is angry at thee, eh? ” asked Renata in German. 
“ Explain all this to me; I can’t understand it.” 

“There is nothing to explain, Renata. Where is your 
father?” 

“ He has gone to see some patient, I think.” 

“ Knowing he would be galled out, why didn’t he leave 


A MA N'S PR OPES SION SOME TIMES A CL OAK. 1 2 7 

some excuse for this man, so that you might not be 
troubled with him ?” 

“Why, Albert, papa said I was sure to entertain Mr. 
Maple until he returned.” 

“ He is just the biggest ass in Boshville then, and his 
ears ought to be a foot long. ” 

The girl looked wonderingly -upon the resolute face of 
Redwood, and added mechanically, — 

“ But the blood on his lips ” 

“Was very likely chewed logwood, my child. But 
don’t break your head over it, Renata ; it will not pay the 
thought.” 

“It is strange,” said Renata, as the old beaming look 
came back to her face, and she leaned it against Red- 
wood’s shoulder; “when these kind of men come near 
me and even papa is present I am. still afraid; but when 
you come, my heart feels perfectly sure, no matter who is 
here. ’ ’ 

It was late that evening when the doctor returned ; and 
when the girl had told him all that had happened, and 
Redwood had scolded him for his imprudent manner of 
making everybody his friend, the doctor only rubbed his 
nose, and said apologetically, “Well, the whole human 
race are worthless; the difference of wickedness being 
only one of degree. You are no better off if you pick 
your friends; you may as well take them as they come.” 
And made a sign to Redwood to say no more about it. 

When Renata put her arms around her father’s neck 
that night to embrace him, before going to bed, she pulled 
him on one side to look at his ears, and as she did so, she 
burst out laughing. ‘ 

“Well, what the deuce is loose now? What are you 
laughing at?” 

The girl laughed the louder, crying, as she kissed him. 


128 


THE LOST MODEL. 


papa! if you knew it, you wouldn’t write to Burg- 
miller any more.” 

I expect,” said Redwood, ** she is laughing at a com- 
pliment I paid you, that your ears were a foot long.” 

There, go to bed, my child, and don’t make me angry 
with your foolishness; and, before you go, see if the 
shutters are fastened in the parlor.” 

The doctor waited until the sound of the pattering feet 
had died away in the hall and stairs, and as he seated 
himself upon the sofa, said, with a look of disappointment. 

There is nothing but trouble in this world ; if you go 
out, you meet it, and if you stay home, it calls upon you. 
What with the scoundrels and the fools, one has a hard 
time to get along. ’ ’ 

‘‘Where have you been this evening?” 

“Didn’t Renata tell you? I have been to Leonard’s. 
They sent for me at three in the afternoon, and I have been 
there ever since. I found her in a dreadful condition, — 
he had been beating her, — her face was cut, and it was 
nearly two hours before she recovered from the swoon.” 

“What an infamous villain Leonard is!” ejaculated 
Redwood. 

‘“lam afraid so.” 

“You have more bad news to tell,” said Redwood, 
looking earnestly at the doctor’s grave face, and then, 
with a nervous hand, he took from his pocket a little 
silver snuff-box, and taking out a piece of opium of the 
size of a pea, he put it in his mouth, and, closing the box, 
tapped playfully upon the lid. 

“Annette is better,” answered the latter; “ much better 
so far as her bodily health is concerned, but a dreadful 
scene took place while I was there. I would to God I 
had never heard it.” And this time he avoided the 
glance of Redwood. 


A MAirS PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. 129 

Let us know the worst, Conrad : as well this evening 
as any time; and when you have told your story, I will 
tell mine. And when you have heard both sides, you 
shall judge between us.” 

The doctor rose up, opened the door which led into 
the hall, and listened for a moment as if to find if any- 
body was still stirring in the house ; then he came back to 
his seat, and said slowly, — 

‘‘ I shall not judge you, Albert, but it is perhaps better 
for you to tell you what I have heard. If you choose to 
explain it, all well ; if, for reasons which you deem suf- 
ficient, you are silent, it is still well so far as I am con- 
cerned. As I said, when I went there this afternoon I 
found Annette in a swoon, her face badly cut and bruised, 
and he acting like a madman ; he would rave over her, 
shake his fist in her face, wish she was dead, and then 
suddenly fall down, kiss her hands, and cry like a child. 
When I had brought her to her senses, I had then a fear- 
ful time with him. He got his pistol out, and threatened 
to kill her and then blow his own brains out. He said 
he was dishonored, — and a thousand wild and dreadful 
things. He told me, Albert, that you had robbed him of 
the affection of his wife, and had seduced her; that he 
had fed you, clothed you, gave you a home, and you had 
repaid him with this terrible ingratitude. When she heard 
this, she said it was a lie; he leaped towards her and took 
her by the throat and asked her if she loved you. My 
God ! what a dreadful time we had ! In spite of all I 
could do to stop her, she insisted upon telling him she 
loved you ; that he had bought her, and that he really 
cared more for the horse in his stable than he did for 
her and her honor. That he loved money and his own 
self so .well, and that he was so eager for notoriety, and so 
mean and small in his heart, that he would not care who 


130 


THE LOST MODEL. 


possessed her, so that he had the price, and could keep the 
secret himself. It was well for her that I stood between 
them, for he was at that time in such a furious, senseless 
condition, that he would have killed her.’' 

‘‘And yet, Conrad,” said Redwood, in a deliberate 
manner, while his voice trembled with the excitement, 
“every word she uttered is true. What is honor or dis- 
honor to him ? He knows no more about it than the pig 
did the price of the pearl ! You remember when he 
married her, — or I should rather say purchased her, know- 
ing her previous story, — and you also remember how he 
paraded her at concerts and operas, or any other public 
meetings; then came his card-parties, political meetings, 
and private caucuses, at which — you know it — he trotted 
her out like a circus rider does a favorite horse. Those / 
who scorned him came to see hjs pretty wife, and the men 
of Boshville — I mean the monied men of the city, who 
would have much rather dined with their barbers — came 
to his house and to his evening parties, drawn there by 
the beauty of the wife and the apparent stupidity of the 
husband. No loafer, — always provided he had money, — 
but the society of the pretty Mrs. Leonard was offered to 
him, by the very man who ought to have shielded her 
from even the knowledge of such human refuse. You 
know very well that when Leonard was told and remon- 
strated with, by the good-hearted .fools, who did not know 
this fellow’s cunning, that he acted imprudently in thus 
allowing every loafer an entree to his parlor and to the 
^acquaintance of his wife, he would reply, with that hot- 
headed frankness which so charmed and delighted his 
hearers, that he had married a woman whose innocence 
and virtue were as certain and as unalterable as the sun- 
light.” 

He paused and walked the floor for a moment or two, 


A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. 131 

then continued: ‘‘Then I came. The ‘ Truthteller’ 
was just started, and he picked me up at first as a trans- 
lator of German and French; when he found I could 
write and lampoon his enemies, I became the pet idol of 
the household. The best room in the house, the best 
place at the table, the carriage and horses at my com- 
mand ; his wife was constantly drilled and instructed that 
even my caprices were to be gratified ; and he planned — 
let him deny it — a thousand excursions to balls, parties, 
concerts, and other amusements, in which the wife was 
my constant companion. He was soon on the flood of 
high political favor; his journal from obscurity became 
famous ; he carried the offices in his pocket ; for he had 
a machine which, at a nod, would rush in and lash his 
enemies or eulogize his friends. He became a political 
power, for he had found the only thing he lacked, educa- 
tion and brains. And when I sat in his studio and 
penned the political diatribes for his morning’s paper, 
and he wanted to bring me some fresh scandal or polit- 
ical slander, he would cough and rattle with his feet upon 
the stairs, to hint that he was coming, and if she was in 
there — why — the mean reptile ! No, Conrad, you know 
that between those two people there is no comparison, 
and their association is like the lizard or saurian with the 
god Apollo. 

“You know what caused the change. Those who had 
paid the price were to be whitewashed, and those who 
refused were to be scourged. I had eaten long enough 
the bread of dependence ; I loathed myself for being such 
a tool and instrument of wrong-doing ; my price was 
killing me, and I left him. Had I courage, enterprise, 
or sufficient determination, she and I might have found 
a home in another land, where neither he nor this hated 
slavery would have troubled us. If she loves me, I 


132 


THE LOST MODEL, 


deserve it; I have purchased it with years of suffering, 
toil, and unmerited drudgery. Jacob served twice seven 
years for Rachel, but his labor was honest labor, mine 
was the drudgery of the damned. 

You must leave here, Albert,^’ said the doctor. I 
have money ; your life is not safe while you are within 
the reach of that man.’^ 

Too late,” was the answer. ‘‘ I have made my bed, 
and must lie upon it.'* 

That night the doctor had terrible dreams ; he dreamed 
his friend Redwood was Damocles, and that he heard the 
snapping of the thread which held the sword suspended 
in the air. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES THE DAY OF HIS BIRTH. 

The doctor stood outside his house, writing upon the 
little porcelain slate which was nailed to his office-door 
that “the doctor is absent in the country, will be back 
at five;” and as he did so, he muttered, “I play the 
pack-horse pretty well all the year round, and I think I 
ought to have one day to myself.” 

“Ah, good-morning, lieber Franz; come in, come in. 
I was just announcing to my patients that I was about to 
play the deserter for one day.” 

“ That is right, doctor; you know the good book says, 
‘Let the blind lead the blind,* and certainly after three 
hundred and sixty-four days* drilling your patients can 
go alone for one day. Ach, Gott 1 Fraulein Renata, how 
pretty thou art this morning.** 


THE DOCTOR CELEBRA TES HIS BIRTHDA Y. 


133 


The dapper littie man bowed and smiled, and touched 
with his lips the little red fingers of that young lady, as 
she came to the door. This was the doctor’s birthday, 
and Renata had insisted that the day should be spent 
upon the beautiful hills, as the summer sun was breaking 
up the cold, black rind of the earth, and was draping it 
hastily in green and red. To honor the occasion, the 
girl wore a plain, white dress, with a large straw hat to 
shade the beautiful face from the burning glare of the 
sun. Inside the house there was a great deal of bustle. 
Caspar and old Kettle were very busy in packing a couple 
of baskets full of eatables, the doctor occasionally suggest- 
ing something also, such as a bottle of pickles, or a bowl 
for punch ; Redwood, dressed in an old hunting -suit, was 
rubbing and cleaning a fishing-rod, while Miss Renata 
was busy making a bouquet of flowers, which the doctor 
was to carry in his hand as his birthday present. 

‘‘You see,” said Renata, quietly, to Franz, who was 
watching her with admiring eyes, “ papa generally, 
manages to spoil everything. This morning early, 
Caspar and I go out and get fresh flowers, to make a 
beautiful bouquet, so that when papa comes down we can 
present it as a birthday present. Now he never comes 
down before eight, but this morning he was down at 
seven, and he would come in the kitchen and see what 
we were doing, although Kettle told him not to come in, 
and that spoilt it all. Now he must carry this in his 
hand all the way, and when we get on the hill we will 
make him a wreath, and he must wear that, too.” 

“What a happy man he must be to be so loved,” was 
the only response. 

“I am sorry Harry Denham is not here,” said the 
doctor j ‘^I think he would enjoy a day out on the hill' 
top.” 


12* 


134 


THE LOST MODEL. 


‘‘ Why, he promised me he would come,” said Renata. 

‘‘Yes, and if you had read the paper,” said Caspar, 
“ instead of laughing at me for doing so, you would have 
known that he is gone to the capital to get his commission 
as a colonel ; and that a war has broken out in the South, 
and that they have blown up all our forts, and are now 
coming North to take ” 

“ My God ! don’t put that ham on top of the pie, 
boy,” said the doctor, who was watching the process of 
packing; “there, put it on one side. Now run and see if 
the wagon is here. Well, Albert, is the fishing-rod in a 
good catching condition? It amuses me very much 
when I think of you and your fishing-rod ; you have had 
it for ten years, and never used it once. Yet we never go 
out but what the fishing-rod forms a part of the baggage !” 

“I have never had a good opportunity to fish as yet. 
The last time we went the creek had dried up with the 
drouth ; and the year before that, the heavy rains had so 
overflooded the country that we could not get within a 
mile of the river, or at least the fishing part of it.” 

“Here is John with the wagon,” cried Renata; and 
she went out into the hall, and returned with Parthee. 

“Now each gentleman before he goes out must have a 
flower in his buttonhole;” and Renata distributed the 
roses, taking care, however, to give a beautiful moss-rose 
to Parthee, and even spending some time in properly 
pinning the flower in its place. 

“I declare,” said Mrs. Bovine, looking through her 
blinds, “if our friends, the Knappe’s, are not going out 
somewhere in a wagon — yes, a common express wagon — 
like a lot of Dutch cabbages !” 

A fewrninutes later she stood at the street-door, smiling 
and bowing at themj, and screaming in her rngst fasci- 
nating manner, — 


THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HIS BIRTHDAY. 135 

Good-morning, Dr. Knappe; how is my dear old beau 
this morning ? And the charming Renata, she looks as 
pretty as a rosebud ; and dear Caspar, too, with gloves on ! 
Why didn’t you invite me to go along, you cruel, un- 
grateful people? Don’t you smile at me, Mr. Franz; I 
won’t forgive you for not making me one of the party. 
Why, there is my dear old crosspatch, Redwood ; what 
are you going to do with that bundle of sticks, you per- 
versest of men?” 

“She don’t mean a word of all that,” said Renata to 
Parthee, as he helped her in the wagon. “She would 
not be seen on Broadway with us in this wagon, for all 
the world.” 

Franz was the only one who swallowed Mrs. Bovine’s 
flattery, and he bowed and smiled for the whole party. 

“The Lord never made her head and neck like a 
snake’s for nothing,” muttered Redwood. 

“Now are we all in and ready?” said the doctor, 
putting on his large driving-gloves, and picking up the 
reins. “I think I fastened up everything, eh, Renata? 
Oh, stop, I forgot; I must have that portfolio of Burg- 
miller’s sketches, so that we can compare them with 
nature, and see how far superior they are to anything in 
this hemisphere.” 

Finally the portfolio was obtained, and after Renata 
had clapped her hands, Caspar had snapped the whip, 
and the doctor wound the reins over his hands so as to 
hold on better, the party started off, to the inextinguish- 
able laughter of Mrs. Bovine, who declared “that it was 
the Dutchest affair she ever saw in her life.” 

Nature, however, fortunately for the pleasure of the 
party, was not like Mrs. Bovine; she (I mean nature) 
sent the fragrance of the hay and honeysuckle to welcome 
them outside of the city, and the stately catalpas which 


136 


THE LOST MODEL. 


were on Renata’s favorite hill wore crowns of blossoms, 
as if in commemoration of the doctor’s birthday. 

‘'Now let us stop here a few moments and enjoy the 
view,” said Redwood, “and let the horse rest awhile, 
Conrad.” This was said as the party was fairly outside of 
the city, and half-way up Cedar Hill, where they intended 
to spend the day. 

“Burgmiller is right,” said the doctor, as he turned 
from the city, enveloped in its blanket of smoke, to the 
clear atmosphere and sunshine of the hill ; “wherever man 
goes he spoils everything; the beautiful in nature can 
be found only where he is not.” 

“ Which, by the by, was said by Schiller, long before 
Burgmiller lived.” 

. “ If I was rich, I would build a palace and live on the 
top of Cedar Hill,” said Renata. 

“ Pshaw ! The best way is to live in the town, and 
read about the country, — or go out and look at it once a 
year; then you enjoy it,” said Caspar. 

“ Herr doctor,” cried Franz, “that is a glorious valley 
over there, with the beautiful river winding along in front 
of it. Did you ever visit the Siebengebirge ? Ach ! this 
is almost as beautiful as that.” 

“Whew ! the sun is getting hot ; we must get to the top 
before noon, or we will be roasted,” and the doctor 
hurried his steed around the ascending slope. 

An hour or two later the party were seated on the 
broad sward that crowned the top of the hill, protected 
from the strong rays of the sun by a group of cedars, 
whose dark branches and leaves stood out in bold con- 
trast against the bright blue of the sky. The horse, tied 
to a tree, was quietly browsing on the thick and luxuriant 
blue grass. A large table-cloth had been spread upon 
the ground, and ham, bread, pickles, cakes, and pie were 


THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HIS BIRTHDAY. 137 

Strewed in fragments all around. The Catawba wine 
bottles were opened, and the doctor, whose eloquence the 
wine had stimulated, was proving that one m'an was not 
as good as another ; Caspar was quietly trying a very 
mild cigar, which he had purchased for that occasion, 
while Renata and Parthee, seated on the edge of the de- 
scent which overlooked the forest and the river, watched 
the hawks which sailed and screamed above their heads, 
and prattled of the things which youth delight in. 

‘‘ No, Franz, you must not make a mistake about that. 
You may take it as a — what do you call it ? — as a maxim, 
that no great man ever lived who did not possess rever- 
ence. You cannot be a poet unless you revere the great 
and good things which have been done- by other poets 
and other men ; you cannot be a true artist unless you 
love and admire what a Raphael and a Da Vinci have 
created ; and you cannot be a great musician unless you 
reverence and almost worship Bach and Beethoven. 
Well, then, if the great men of the earth must have 
reverence, why, how much more must the little men 
have it? for they need guides the most of all. Here, 
our motto is, *one man is as good as another,’ and as 
the Irishman adds, ^yes, and, be jabers, a good deal 
better. ’ I say to you, so long as that maxim is taught and 
believed in, we will never produce one really great man.” 

“And in Deutschland,” said Franz, “ we go to the other 
extreme. When the field-marshal frowns, the general 
swears, the colonel raves, the captain scolds, like a maniac, 
the lieutenant, and the latter flogs the private.” 

“I really believe,” said Redwood, laughing, “that 
when the Emperor of Germany sneezes all the courtiers 
tremble, and are shocked at the impudence of the wind in 
thus troubling the regal nose.” 

“ So much the better,” said the doctor, who was not to 


138 


THE LOST MODEL. 


be laughed out of his position. Here stands the king, 
the father of his country, and the guardian of his ignorant 
and thoughtless children, the people,” — and the doctor 
stood up with the bottle in his hand, better to illustrate 
the doctrine, — “ as he looks around him, and sees igno- 
rance here, sloth there, and general incompetence every- 
where.” 

Look, Conrad, at the eagle ; thefe is a splendid fellow 
for you !” The bird made one circle above the heads of 
the party, and then slowly ascended until lost in the dis- 
tance. 

Der Rhein ! Der Rhein ! da wachsen unsere,” — and 
Franz burst into song, white the doctor forgot his theme 
and joined in the chorus until the hills echoed again. 

Papa won!t wear the wreath, so yOu shall ; and if your 
forehead was higher you would look like one of those 
poets one meets in picture-books,” said Renata, as she 
placed the wreath on the head of her neighbor. 

^^Tell me another story, Parthee ; I love to hear you 
tell stories.” 

“Renata does not believe them; what is the good of 
telling them?” 

“ Oh, that story of the deathless men, who come every 
thousand years to this earth, and who, as they wander 
through the woods and over the mountains, sometimes 
lose one of the stragglers, who stays and wanders around 
among we poor mortals until his companions come back 
and take him away, is very beautiful, but it isn’t true. I 
asked Redwood about it, and he says there is nothing on 
this earth either above or below nature ; and when men 
talk of the supernatural and spirits, and all that kind of 
thing, they talk nonsense.” 

“And that Dr. Knappe, Mr. Redwood the philosopher, 
and rosy-faced Renata, all came from monkeys.” 


THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HIS BIRTHDAY. 139 

‘‘I would \\k.Q to know where you came from, Parthee. 
Now, your name is Spanish, yet you don’t speak Spanish. 
Tell me where you lived and how your mother looked and 
what you did when you was a boy. ’ ’ 

‘‘What one does not know he cannot tell,” was the 
laconic reply. “ If you live in a land where there are no 
nights, and where the beings do not die, you cannot tell 
what took place yesterday, for there was no such thing as 
a day gone by. ’ ’ 

“You are a naughty boy; you don’t tell the truth. 
But, come, we won’t quarrel; let us walk down that 
beautiful path to the river.” 

As he pushed aside the thorn-bushes for her, helped her 
over the rocks, and occasionally plucked a wild flower 
to put in her hair, Renata’s face beamed with delight ; 
and, when she stood upon the brink of the river, she 
said, slowly, “I don’t know how that comes, but some 
people cry at the theatre, others over a novel, but when 
I am in the woods, in the free, open air, with the bestutiful 
trees and flowers around me, then I could cry like a baby.” 
And already an ominous tear glittered upon her cheek. 

“Well, isn’t that what I tell you? You a^re sad be- 
cause it passes away so soon. But you must come where 
I live, where neither the river dries, nor the flowers 
fade ” 

“ Hush !” said Renata, placing her finger on his lip; 
“here in the woods God hears everything, and all the 
flowers He makes fade. I wonder what papa is doing ; I 
don’t hear them sing.” 

“ Doing !” said Parthee ;. “ he is cursing that man who 
will come here some day and plant a saw-mill on the side 
of this h1ll, and run his saw through every tree within 
sight and reach.” 

“Poor papa! how much nothing worries him. See 


140 


THE LOST MODEL. 


how the crows are flying towards the forest ; it mu^ be 
their dinner-time.” 

“ They are going home before the storm comes.” 

Storm !” said Renata, holding her hand out against 
the breeze; there will be no storm to-day. Now, if 
Caspar was here he could fish, for whenever you see 
bubbles on the water it is the fish which make them.” 

“ Arje you very fond of Caspar?” was the inquiry. 

‘‘Yes; I like him more than he likes me; but, then, 
you know” (gravely), “girls always love stronger than 
boys do. You know we are twins, and when we were 
little he used to play me awful tricks. Once Kettle says 
she made me a dish of custard, and I agreed to give 
Caspar half of it; so he got a spoon, and I had a spoon, 
and one eat from one side, and the other from the other. 
All at once he proposed I should let him eat his half first, 
because he was in a hurry, and I was to hold my spoon in 
the centre of the dish, to keep or mark off where my half 
was. *Well, I held my spoon there, but he kept eating, 
and as it all ran over on his side, he ate it all ; and when 
I cried, he called me a goose. I am glad you don’t laugh 
at me. I told this story once to some company papa had 
to see his pictures, and they laughed and looked at Caspar 
and said what a smart boy he was ; and they really ad- 
mired him. But Redwood was angry, and said it was 
bad in a boy to think so much of himself. ’ ’ 

“Poor Redwood !” said Parthee. 

“ Poor i he is not poor, except perhaps in money ; and 
the pretty Mrs. Leonard is in love with him ! and that is 
something that even money will not buy. Ain’t this beau- 
tiful ! I could sit here forever. Give me that yellow 
flower, — I forget its English name. Now, hold it under 
my chin, and see if I like butter.” 

Presently the woods and hills echoed with the cry of 


THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HIS BIRTHDA^. 141 

I 

“ Oh, Renata !” and Caspar came running towards them. 
^‘Ah! there you are, Miss Flirt; never mind. I’ll tell 
Harry Denham of you ! Come, Mr. Linwood has invited 
us all into his beautiful house yonder, and father wants 
you to come right away.” 

*^Do you think his house is much finer than this?” 
asked Parthee. 

Oh, yes ; lots ! You ought to see his beautiful car- 
pets, and chairs with gold ornaments, and all that kind 
of thing. Come on, they are waiting for you.” 

Mr. Linwood, whose castle-like mansion stood upon 
the summit of a neighboring hill, was standing at the 
door, as Renata, Parthee, and Caspar came there. He 
took Renata with both hands. 

I have just been scolding your father for thinking no 
more of me than to sit down in front of my house and 
eat his dinner, and never invite me out to take a glass of 
wine with him ; and then you, my favorite, wander over 
all the hills, but never invite me to be of the party.” 

have teased papa a great many times to bring me 
out to see you, but he always tells me he has no time. 
To-day is his birthday, and we are celebrating it in the 
woods and on the hill; if I thought you would' have 
liked to be one of the party, I should certainly have 
asked you to come. But, then, as you live here all the 
time, Mr. Linwood, it may not seem so beautiful to you 
as to us. ’ ’ 

Here the doctor broke in with, ‘‘Do you know, Mr. 
Linwood, that I have always admired you for that ? Now, 
you are very wealthy, and could live wherever you please, 
— in Paris, in London, or in Rome, where all the immortal 
works of art are ; and instead of doing what so many of 
our rich men do, — keep a big house in town, and spend 
the time in making more money, — you live here on this 

13 


142 


THE LOST MODEL. 


beautiful hill, cultivating the neighboring grounds, tend- 
ing your flowers, planting your trees, and living a thought- 
ful, quiet life.” 

‘‘ I get along better with the trees than I do with my 
fellow-man.” Taking Renata by the hand, the genial old 
man led them through the stately mansion to his library 
and picture-gallery, where his sons and daughters were 
together ; he introduced Franz and the ^‘sculptor,” as he 
called Parthee, to his family, and in a few moments the 
guests were as much at their ease as though they had lived 
together for years. 

Redwood rummaged the books ; Franz, at the earnest 
request of the young people, was playing them a violin 
solo; the doctor seated at the bow-window with the eldest 
boy, who was studying to be a doctor, was showing the 
portfolio of Burgmiller’s etchings and aquarelles, and 
comparing them proudly even with the beautiful landscape 
which was spread out before them. For, as the doctor 
.insisted, “The imagination of a man is more wonderful 
than nature.” 

Mr. Linwood was walking Parthee over his grounds ; 
and, at the same time, consulting him here as to the 
proper place for a path, and there the best trees for the 
view. 

Franz was delighted at Parthee’ s absence, and he played 
all sorts of tunes and imitations of sounds of nature to 
please his smiling auditory; and when the rich Miss Esther 
Linwood praised his skill, or Renata laughed at his accent 
and grimaces, he was a happy man. “An artist needs 
praise,” he would say ; “ it is the breath of life to him, and 
without it he dies and becomes a shoemaker or something 
of that sort.” They gave him wine, and he played them 
waltzes, and even Renata forgot Parthee in the charms of 
a waltz. Franz also had lots of stories to tell ; and when 


THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HIS B/R 2 HDAV. 143 

tired with playing, he would put his fiddle down and take 
up a story. 

I remember that about ten years ago, on my way up 
here from New Orleans, I stopped to see an old friend 
just a few miles out of Natchez. He was a jolly old 
bachelor, lived on his plantation, and had a hundred 
niggers to do whatever he wanted. He was very rich, 
always had more money than he could spend. Well, he 
was very glad to see me. He w^ould not let me go for 
two weeks, but kept me there, gave me the best to eat, 
and every night I played to him the air from ' Norma,’ 
‘ Take my children.’ That was his favorite melody. In 
fact, it was the only one he liked. He would get out the 
whisky — such splendid whisky — make two big punches ; 
and then I would play ‘Take these, my children,’ and 
he would drink punch and listen to my playing until the 
tears rolled down his cheek. Well, one morning while 
walking over his plantation, for he had a big, beautiful 
place, I saw some fine — what-do-ye-call-’ems — mint. Yes, 
mint. It is a green herb ; and I says, ‘ See here, this is 
the stuff for your punch. ’ ‘ I never knew greens was good 
for punch,’ he says. ‘Oh, yes,’ said I, ‘ in New York, at 
the Bobolink Hotel, everybody puts mint in their punches.’ 
‘All right,’ he says. ‘Here, Uncle Sam,’ calling a big 
darkey ; ‘ every afternoon, bring me in a bunch of them 
’ar greens.’ ‘Yes, massa !’ That night he put some in the 
punch, and he liked it so well that he took an extra punch, 
and made me play ‘Norma, take these children,’ six 
times over. Well, next day I leave, promising next time 
I go to New Orleans to call again. Now last year, after 
spending the winter in the South, I comes to Belleville ; 
and when I gets to Natchez, I says to myself, I will go 
and see my friend Brown, and play him ‘ Norma’ again. 
So out I goes, and takes my fiddle with me. Well, when 


144 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I reaches the place, I find the fence down, the roof 
broken in, the windows out, and everything in -disorder. 
I went in, and could not see a soul ; the doors were off 
the hinges, the furniture was gone, and big cobwebs 
blocked up the doorway. I think to myself, the cholera 
has been here, and every soul has died ; and I feels bad 
for my ‘ Norma’ friend. But just as I passes the end of 
the garden, I sees a very old nigger sitting on the grass, 
and warming his head in the sun. ‘ Where is your master, 
Uncle Sam ?’ says I. ‘ My massa ! which one you want ?’ 
‘I mean Master Brown.’ ‘Oh, yah. Brown; well, he’s 
dead.’ ‘Dead!’ said I, ‘what did he die of; what was 
the matter with him?’ ‘Well, now,’ said the old nigger, 
‘ he died of greens, he did ; yes, sah, he died of greens. 
A long time ago, a little fiddler came here, and he showed 
massa how to eat greens. And massa took greens in the 
morning, and he took ’em at noon, and he took ’em at 
night ; and finally massa did nothing but took greens ; 
and them cussed greens killed him.’ ” 

“It was not the greens that killed the poor man, it 
was the whisky,” said Renata, gravely; and the party 
laughed louder at this than they did at the story, much to 
that young lady’s confusion. 

Franz fairly surpassed himself this afternoon in pleasant 
stories of his adventures, in imitating upon the instru- 
ments the inmates of a farm-yard, and above all in show- 
ing them how some of his pupils played and talked about 
music; for in the full shine of Miss Renata’s beautiful 
face, and under the smiles and white teeth of the wealthy 
Esther Linwood, his artist’s soul rejoiced, and he caroled 
like a bird in the sunlight. “ For,” as he afterwards told 
Caspar on his way home, “what a glorious thing a real 
beautiful woman was, and what a desert this would be 
but for her!” And the latter promised laughingly to 


THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HTS BIRTHDAY. 145 

steal his sister’s daguerreotype and give it to the enthu- 
siastic fiddler; who declared to Heaven that he would 
say his prayers to it. 

Caspar wondered at this, and thought to himself how 
much more elegant Miss Linwood looked in her blue silk 
and graceful ways, and how fine it must be to live in her 
grand house and be liked by her ; but he said nothing 
for fear that Franz might take a fancy to her himself. 
When evening came, and Mr. Linwood and Esther, his 
daughter, accompanied their guests to the road where 
their wagon was waiting for them, they were a delighted 
lot of people. The doctor, who had been drinking very 
freely of Linwood’s Hungarian wine, was praising a life 
in the country, and declaring that at last he had found 
out the proper sphere for a thoughtful man ; which Red- 
wood insisted was of no use unless the man had money. 

The host, walking between Renata and Parthee, was 
complimenting the former upon the high position she was 
to occupy in the Catholic church, in being permanently 
placed upon the altar ; while Franz was explaining to 
Esther Linwood that Vienna was the loveliest and most 
affectionate city in the world. And Caspar walked at 
the side, holding with both hands a pretty bouquet of 
flowers which the fair hostess had suddenly given to him. 

‘^Now, doctor, that means a storm,” said Linwood, as 
he handed up the reins, pointing to the sky, which looked 
as though the milky way was on fire, so gorgeously red 
were the clouds in all directions; “and rain, you know, 
will spoil the pretty ribbons on Miss Renata’s bonnet.” 

But the doctor was busy planning a new house to be 
built out here when he had got money enough to buy a 
lot ; so, smiling at the friendly advice, he turned his horse 
round and went the longest way home, so that he could 
enjoy the sunset. The doctor was driving very leisurely 

13* 


146 


THE LOST MODEL. 


along the banks of the river, stopping every now and 
then to admire the view, when Redwood called his atten- 
tion to the black clouds, the increasing wind, and the 
heavy drops of rain which occasionally fell. The doctor 
increased the pace, but the storm traveled a good deal 
faster than they did, and, before they could reach a large 
barn by the roadside into which they drove, the roads 
and fields became suddenly dark, the rain fell, and the 
very earth trembled with the noise of the thunder. The 
men scrambled out of the wagon, and, helping Renata 
out, they crowded back into the barn, out of the reach of 
the searching storm. 

Where isParthee?” asked Redwood, as the lightning 
showed the absence of that person. 

‘‘He ran under yonder tree,” said Caspar, “but that 
is not half so good a place as this is. I love to see the 
rain come down.” 

The doctor called his name several times. 

“Tell him to come away from the tree,” whispered 
Renata, to her father; “but that isn’t him, papa, — he 
isn’t there.” 

“ No, I saw him riding across the field on a broom- 
stick,” said Franz, who was delighted at the thought that 
Parthee was out in the storm. 

The doctor was stepping out to look for him, when a 
sudden flash of lightning struck the ground in front of 
the barn, and burst like a bombshell, scattering the blue 
flames in all directions. Renata caught hold of the 
doctor’s coat-tail and pulled him back, and clung to him 
as the thunder broke louder than ever above their heads. 

“It is wrong,” muttered Renata to herself, “to go 
out into such a dreadful storm, and tempt the lightning 
to strike you.” 

The storm passed almost as suddenly as it came, and 


ZOV£ IS WARPING THE WOOF. 


147 


the evening shone out in gray and silver; the party 
jesting took their places in the wagon, and the doctor, as 
he drove, explained to Redwood that one of the famous 
landscapes of Burgmiller was painted immediately after 
a storm, when the dust was all washed off the face of 
nature, and even the cows had clean and shining coats. 
Parthee, however, did not make his appearance, and 
Renata, that night in her dreams, saw him taken away by 
the deathless wanderers, to whose dreadful band he 
claimed to belong. 


CHAPTER XII. 

LOVE IS STILL WARPING THE WOOF OF HUMAN EVENTS. 

Renata, come down and look at the soldiers!” 
screamed Caspar. “ Come quick.” 

Out on the porch that topped off the doctor’s office 
stepped simultaneously the doctor, Renata, and Caspar. 
The streets were alive with people, flags were floating 
from every window, and the atmosphere throbbed with 
the unceasing beat of the drum and the squeal of the fife. 

‘‘Here they come,” said the boy, and he pulled his 
handkerchief out ready. “This is Denham’s regiment ; 
you’ll see him on horseback; this is going to be the crack 
regiment of the war.” 

“And is it really true, my child, that we are, at scarcely 
a moment’s warning, plunged into war?” A shout 
drowned the rest of the doctor’s sentence, as a regiment 
of men, eight abreast, suddenly turned the corner, and 
marched with a firm, regular step beneath the window. 
The sun was hot, the roads dusty^ and the accoutrements 


148 


THE LOST MODEL', 


heavy at such a season ; but the animated glances of the 
men, and the elastic tread, showed that such difficulties 
made no impression upon their enthusiasm. The girl 
had darted in and caught up all the flowers she could lay 
her hands on, and as they passed she threw them with a 
smiling face upon the marching men. The men broke 
their ranks, picked up the flowers and leaves, placed them 
in their caps and guns, and waving their caps at her, gave 
cheer upon cheer for the scattering blossoms ; while 
Colonel Denham, as he rode beneath, and bowed re- 
peatedly to her, thought he had never seen a face so 
beautiful as hers. 

Poor Denham !” said the doctor; ‘‘who knows if we 
shall ever enjoy his society again !” 

“Oh, yes!” said Caspar; “the regiment is only 
marching to the camp, and will not leave until to-morrow 
morning; the colonel is coming to see you before he goes.” 

“How handsome he looks in his military clothes!” 
said Renata. “But what is it all about? who are we 
going to fight ?” 

“The South! Didn’t I tell you last week there was 
going to be a great war, and all about the slaves ? See, 
here comes a cavalry regiment — look, Renata — all on 
brown horses, with rifles and long swords. Hurrah ! 
These are the best fighting soldiers in the world. I’ll 
tell you how they stand. One Frenchman can whip five 
Germans, one Englishman can whip five Frenchmen, and 
one American can whip five Englishmen. See there, pa, 
isn’t that Dr. Green? He is the regimental surgeon; I 
wish you had a regiment.” 

Boshville was in a dreadful fermentation. The roads 
were occupied with the troops which suddenly sprang 
into existence, and the footways were lined with the 
women and children, who, flushed with the excitement 


LOVE IS WARPING THE WOOF. 


149 


and the heat, still marched along in sight of their 
brothers, sons, and fathers. In front of the aristocratic 
houses were large water-coolers, filled with ice-water for 
the passers-by ; evergreens and flags decorated the streets, 
and any man with the uniform of a soldier upon him could 
obtain food, drink, and tobacco without money and with- 
out price. Some rolled barrels and kegs of beer into the 
street, and, filling little tin-cans and cups, would offer them 
to the soldiers ; others brought cigars and packages of to- 
bacco j and every now and then you would see an excited 
group of friends suddenly pull a man from the ranks, 
shake him by the hand, put a wreath around his hat, and 
cheer him as he hurried forward to his place in the ranks. 

Never mind, major,’' said Denham, to the major of 
his regiment, as the latter directed the adjutant to order 
the men to keep the ranks. Never mind, let them alone ; 
we will be outside of the city in a few minutes ; let the 
boys bid their sweethearts good-by.” 

And yet, amid all the excitement, the men in uniform, 
who had at a moment’s warning left their desks, books, 
counters, and machines, and the comforts of home-life 
for the ‘^flinty couch of war,” were sober, earnest, and 
determined. 

‘‘They look so young,” said the doctor to Redwood, 
“and yet how well they march and carry their heavy 
accoutrements beneath a blistering sun, and the weather 
a hundred degrees in the shade. But come tell me all 
about it : what is the dreadful trouble into which we have 
so suddenly plunged ? that boy for the last week or so has 
been gabbling about slaves and territory and tariffs ; and 
Virginia arming and Tennessee getting ready to throw a 
million of men upon the North, and all that sort of thing, 
but I paid no attention to it. But you understand 
politics; what now is the real cause of this war?” 


THE LOST MODEL. 


150 

Redwood gravely explained that the Southern poli- 
ticians, finding political power passing from their hands 
to the men of the North, and their institution of slavery 
hampered and threatened by the adverse sentiments of the 
people, now claimed the right to withdraw from the 
Federal compact and rule themselves ; and had suddenly 
taken up arms to force the Northern people to accede to 
their wishes. The doctor was just commenting upon the 
dangerous precedent of a war, when a crowd of men 
suddenly surged into the office, carrying a soldier, who 
had fallen from his horse, sunstruck. The doctor hurried 
to his patient, and Redwood passed into the street. 

‘^If I had a grain of courage,” he muttered to himself, 

I would go, too ; better a death upon the battle-field 
than this sneaking life.” 

As he passed into the suburbs he found men in citizens’ 
clothes drilling as soldiers, and though he smiled at their 
awkward appearance, he blushed when a bystander asked 
him if he had drilled that day, or if he had turned out 
yet. He hurried to the river, stepped upon a ferry-boat, 
and was landed on the other side. Listening for a 
moment to the fife, drum, and hum of voices which came 
across from the opposite shore, he walked slowly around 
the base of the hill, and creeping beneath the shadows of 
the huge elms which lined the road, he inhaled gratefully 
the cooling breeze. He turned up the narrow country 
road which wound in among the hills, and passed the 
cows munching the luxuriant grass; and the horses in the 
pasture, with flying manes, started up and fled from his 
approach. The grasshopper flew by him like a bird, and 
mingled with the songs of the birds was the creak, creak 
of some winged insect. 

He stopped at the bend of the road and descended into 
a little valley, whose narrow, grassy sides were covered 


LOVE IS WARPING THE WOOF. 


151 

and crowded with huge, silent, and majestic trees. As 
he walked among these forest kings which had sheltered 
the birds and covered the ground with leaves for a hun- 
dred years, the squirrel ran along the branches, and the 
crow cawed at him from the summit. 

‘‘Too soon,” he said, and gazed all around with a 
searching and impatient glance. A moment later, he 
heard the branches crackle upon the ground, and from 
the wood came the figure of a woman, heavily veiled. 

“Annette!” 

“Alberti” 

She pulled aside her veil, and sat beside him upon the 
slope of the hill ; her face was deadly pale, and her hands 
trembled with the excitement. As she leaned her head 
upon his shoulder, he noticed a mark of a bruise upon 
her temple ; and the lips that kissed him were hot and 
feverish. 

“You are very sick, Annette. Great God! why did 
you come out to-day? this weather and excitement may 
kill you.” 

“I had rather die here with you near me, than be 
killed in that horrible house,” was the quiet and de- 
termined response. “I tell you,” she continued, “ it is 
dreadful ! To have that mean, selfish face hovering over 
me night and day ; to hear his monotonous voice croaking 
about himself, and his stocks, and his lying paper, and to 
be beaten when he is drunk, and when sober to have 
one’s soul crushed with the praise of them, and the 
eternal incense burnt to any humbug that brings money 
or notoriety ! I tell you, Albert, there is no hell equal 
to that man’s tyranny.” 

“ Well, Annette, then let us end it. Come, go with me 
now ; the world is wide enough for us all, and we can live 
where not a soul from this region would ever find us ” 


152 


THE LOST MODEL, 


She interrupted him with an impatient gesture and a 
reproachful look, — 

Too late, Albert, too late ! Five years ago, had you 
thought of it, had you dared it, I would have gone wil- 
lingly. But then you were afraid; your reputation, your 
fears of being able to support me. Well, I won’t quarrel 
with you now about that ; it is all over.” 

She looked at him as he leaned his head upon his hand 
and gazed fixedly at the grass at his feet, and as she 
noticed the dark hair turning gray, and the youthful 
face already furrowed with care, she sighed, and play- 
fully kissing the thoughtful forehead, she added, — 

‘‘Come, look up, Albert; we have no time to lose; 
and I have much to tell you.” 

He only sighed at her caress, and gazed fixedly at the 
weeds that covered the ground. She looked at the hand- 
some mouth and rounded chin, and as she noticed the 
lines which many a mental struggle had furrowed there, 
and remembered her own magical influence over him, her 
heart smote her, that the power so gracefully given should 
yet be abused. 

“There must be some way out of this, Annette; some 
escape from this torture ; but I am too imbecile to find 
it. My plan, my first plan,” — and his voice gathered 
energy as he spoke, — “was to have worked along until I 
acquired an interest in the paper, — say eight or nine 
shares of the stock, — and then when the paper had the 
highest circulation to sell out at the best possible figures. 
With the money realized, we would have been free, — it 
would have given us wings ; you should have had your 
divorce, and I would have claimed you publicly, or we 
might have gone to the far West, and lived in peace and 
contentment. Oh, I should have had courage to have 
done it ! But to take a step, without money or means, — 


LOVE IS WARPING THE WOOF. 


153 


to take you among strangers, and run the dreadful risk of 
poverty as well as disgrace, — that was more than I could 
venture. You know, Annette, I make no new friends; 
there is not an atom in my whole composition which is 
attractive to my fellow-man, and right here, where I have 
lived twenty years, it is as much as I can do to earn my 
daily bread. The very thought, Annette, of taking you 
to a strange town, where perhaps I might have to beg the 
opportunity to earn the food we should eat, utterly and 
entirely unmanned me, — I would have died rather than 
have placed you in such a position.” And he glared and 
frowned at the imaginary foe. *‘Of course my own im- 
prudence spoiled that hope; after eating dirt for five 
years, I got suddenly very sensitive about dust. Well, 
Annette, you must pardon that weakness in me, — when 
the devil is once roused in me I have no more control of 
it than the crow has on yonder limb. But, now see, 
Annette, in my new position I think I will gain more 
money. Only have patience ; in two or three years ” 

She stopped him. ‘‘ Put my shawl over my shoulders ; 
the breeze in the grove is chilling me. Now, listen, you 
impetuous boy. Let us waste no more time in discussing 
what we ought to have done, or even what we will do 
some three years hence. We must first get rid of to-day. 
Give me your promise, Albert, that you will do what I 
desire.” 

‘‘If it is to leave you in your trouble, it is useless to 
ask such a thing. I am incapable of such a piece of 
cowardice. ’ ’ 

“So far as I am concerned, Albert, the climax has 
been reached. When he was ill-treating me, I always had 
a presentiment that he was a coward, but my own con- 
science made me silent, and I submitted. The other day 
he goaded me beyond endurance ; for not content with 

14 


154 


THE LOST MODEL. 


striking me and kicking me, he heaped upon you and your 
name everything mean and contemptible his treacherous 
nature could suggest ; you had neither talent nor sense, 
you were ugly, ungrateful, and stupid, and any man or 
woman could buy you for a trifle, a bagatelle.” She 
paused. You know, Albert, you are mine, by the grace 
of God. I, — well, I have given my soul for you. And 
when I saw him, and heard him sneering, lying, and 
slandering you, — you, to whom he has cringed, smiled, 
and upon 'whose brains he has gathered and built his 
dirty thousands ! God pardon me ! I could have killed 
him, as one kills the viper or the insect that stings you — 
with contempt. In that moment, Albert, I found out 
what a sneaking coward he was. Have no fear for me 
for the future ; the quarrels are all over. He has his room 
and I have mine. I tell you, Albert, he ran from me, as 
the boy runs from the schoolmaster, — and he will no more 
rouse me to anger than he will tell the truth, forget him- 
self, or be honest.” 

He looked at the flashing eyes in admiring wonder, and 
kissed the trembling hands. 

“ So far as I am concerned, Albert, have no fear; for, 
unless he should cut my throat as I sleep, he will not offer 
me any more violence. And now comes what I have to say 
to you, Albert, and which I implore you to take into con- 
sideration. Be assured, that upon the very first oppor- 
tunity, he will kill you, or attempt it. Do not be deceived, 
Albert ; I know him, as one knows a disease with which 
one has struggled for years. He will meet you a thou- 
sand times, nod and pass on ; and there will come a time 
when, drunk with his imaginary wrongs, he will watch an 
opportunity, come behind you, and strike you down, 
without the slightest remorse or a moment’s warning.” 

Then I will arm myself, Annette ; and the first time 


LOVE IS WARPING THE WOOF. 


155 


I meet him I will make him retract, or he shall fight me 
on the spot.” 

^‘He will apologize, Albert; he will eat dirt in your 
presence. You will go home and generously put aside 
your pistol, and the next day he will stab you unawares. 
No, Albert, you are perhaps the only man in the city 
unable to cope with him. For that very reason you must 
obey me. To-morrow we leave for Virginia. There is 
some secret political interest behind this sudden rebel- 
lion, which Leonard is driving at; what it is I know not. 
We shall be gone about three months, as in that time 
the great event, whatever it is, will take place. In the 
meantime, Albert, you must seek another home. You 
will never know what it costs me to advise you to such a 
step, for you are all to me that makes life bearable ; and 
yet better that you should be beyond the reach of his 
malice, although I should never see you again.” 

He only shook his head and muttered Impossible.” 

No, Albert, it is not only possible, but it mustho. done. 
Go to California, throw aside this dreadful distrust of 
yourself, for wherever intelligence is prized, there you are 
needed. Go there by all means. You may meet with 
great success, and then, Albert, who knows, the castle 
you have built in imagination so often may after all 
come to be a reality. Don’t, I beg you, shroud yourself 
in that terrible mantle of indifference, which of late has 
grown a custom with you ; but if you love me, obey me 
this once, for it may be the last thing I shall ever ask of 
you ! ’ ’ 

He rose up, and, taking her by the hand, they walked 
slowly through the narrow glen; he paused as he reached 
the end, which opened upon fields of waving corn. 

“Well, Annette, do not worry about me, and do not 
ask me to promise you anything now; give me time, and 


THE LOST MODEL, 


156 

everything you desire shall be carried out. I will think 
earnestlyabout it while you are gone, and when you re- 
turn, if I think that you are right this time, I will obey 
you cheerfully. But at this moment don’t ask me to 
promise. We are on the eve of a great war ; what the 
result will be, no one can tell. The very ground upon 
which we stand may in a few days become a battle-field. 
See the beautiful blue-bird!” and he paused for fear of 
disturbing the graceful little creature that nodded, hopped, 
and pecked among the fallen leaves. 

As the moment came for parting, she clung to him and 
sobbed like a child. He petted her, and yet rallied her 
upon the want of courage. All would yet be well. He was 
making great progress in his new position, he would soon 
have money, and then, away beyond that blue line of the 
horizon there was a home for them both, and the time 
was yet coming when they would laugh and jest at their 
present fears. She smiled through her tears at his earnest- 
ness, and the innocent manner with which he described 
the happiness that was coming; that was so near, and yet, 
to her, so invisible. When she left him and crossed the 
open space which led to the road where her carriage was 
waiting beneath the shadow of the elms, she turned, and 
still saw upon his face the smile of hope, and heard ring- 
ing in her ears his words of confidence, and, as they sank 
into her heart, she thought, perhaps after all he may be 
right and fate may yet smile upon us. 

Slowly he turned toward the city, wending his way so 
distractedly, and stopping so often to muse with himself, 
that evening closed before he reached the river ; and to 
have seen the desperate look with which he lingered upon 
the river brink, you would have thought it was some suicide 
preparing himself for the death-leap. 

That night when Redwood returned late to the house, 


LOF£ IS WARPING THE WOOF. 


157 


he found the doctor and Mrs. Denham having a very ex- 
cited discussion in the little parlor, into which, as usual, 
the doctor very unceremoniously dragged his friend. The 
good lady was rejoicing at the war, and at the news which 
had a few moments before reached Boshville, that a battle 
had been fought in Missouri, in which the Northern forces 
had suffered a defeat. The South, she insisted, with spark- 
ling eyes, would be certain to conquer, and before a 
month was over their heads they would sweep over Bosh- 
ville as the hurricane sweeps over the prairie ; city after 
city, and State after State, would fall before their victori- 
ous banners, and America would be once more in the 
hands of statesmen and true military chieftains. 

Do you speak the sentiments of the people, Mrs. Den- 
ham,” asked Redwood, “or only what these statesmen 
and military chieftains say?” 

“ I speak the sentiments of the whole South,” said this 
voluble lady; “of every man, woman, and child below 
Mason and Dixon’s line. As for the sentiment or feel- 
ings of what you call the people, hang them I In my 
household, neither my coachman nor my gardener has 
any voice in the direction of affairs. Pretty state of things 
it would be, if my Irish cook or my English coachman 
decided when the dinner came upon the table, or the 
carriage should go out ! ’ ’ 

“And yet, if a rebellion were to take place in your 
house, and the question became one of brute force, what 
would become of you in a contest with the cook, the 
gardener, the coachman, and the housemaid?” 

“I’d show’ em.” And the undaunted lady snapped 
her fingers at such a contemptible foe. 

As the doctor showed her to her carriage, she stopped 
in the doorway, and said quietly, — • 

“ Was Harry here?” 

i4» 


THE LOST MODEL, 


158 

‘‘ He left a few minutes before you came ; he only came 
to bid us good-by.” 

Where is his regiment going to?” 

The doctor shook his head. 

“It makes no matter, I shall see it in the papers. 
Harry is a fool, an obstinate fool. He will be killed and 
disgraced forever ; I begged him on my knees to spare me 
the anguish of seeing a boy of mine fighting against his 
own flesh and blood, — ^hisown brother! Not he, forsooth ! 
I tell you, doctor, he is a bad boy 1 There is malice in him. 
He told me in a passion, if he met George in battle, fight- 
ting against the flag that educated him, he would ” 

“Hush!” said the doctor, “we must not talk these 
matters over in the streets; the times are dangerous.” 

“A little gunpowder, doctor, will clear the atmosphere ! 
Good-night. Tell Renata to come and see me. Good- 
night !” And with a bang the carriage-door closed, and 
the horses started at a half-gallop down the street. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IS A POPE GREATER THAN GOD? 

“ Where are you going so early this morning, Renata?” 

“This is the morning I go Ferris’s; and, you know, 
papa, he wants me to be there always punctually at nine.” 

“True, my child, but it is only eight now.” 

“Well, I will walk slowly.” And nodding her head 
at the doctor she hurried off, as though she wanted to get 
rid of his questions. 

The doctor put up his spectacles on his forehead, and 


IS A POPE GREATER THAN GOD r 


159 


gazed after her a little perplexed : woman’s mind is, 

after all, the' most incomprehensible thing in the world. 
At first she would not go there at all, — I had almost to 
drag her; and now she is there before Ferris is out of bed.” 

At this moment Mrs. Bovine shook her head and winked 
at him through her parlor window, and for fear she would 
come to the door, the doctor hurried back into his office. 
Renata, in the meantime, hurried along, glancing every 
now and then at a little white rose she held very gingerly 
between her fingers; and the clerks and merchants on 
their way to business, who knew the pretty Miss 
Knappe,” bowed and smiled at her radiant face. 

Ferris had on his linen sleeves and white bib, and was 
cutting and modeling his figure in wet clay, while his 
model, Parthee, posed as before on the raised dais, and 
listened to the garrulous sculptor, when the girl entered 
and bowed to the industrious artist. 

‘‘Am I too early, Mr. Ferris?” 

“Early! you are like the sun, you cannot come too 
early. Just a minute ago I was speaking, and wondering 
if you would be here this morning. I’m glad you have 
come. Parthee is tired of posing. My wife has gone to 
market, and my girl is at mass, so I will trouble you to go 
in the sitting-room, take off your bonnet, and let out those 
auburn locks; they are pining for liberty this morning.” 

When Renata appeared, the sculptor stood before a 
huge block of pure white marble, from the centre of which 
rose up the figure of a woman in a kneeling posture, with 
the face upturned and one hand pressed upon the breast, 
and the other stretched forward pointing at something. 
The head, although not yet quite completed, bore a strik- 
ing resemblance to Renata, except the expression of the^ 
face, which- was too mournful and sad for her. 

“I expect the bishop will be here this morning, and 


THE LOST MODEL. 


i6o 

we must show him that we are progressing with our new 
altar-piece. ’ ’ And the sculptor placed the' girl on the 
dais, arranged the curtain for the light, and then, as he 
cut and smoothed the marble, he prattled on and kept the 
smile of pleasure upon the girl’s face. At a pause in the 
sculptor’s running commentary she turned to Parthee, 
who had been silently chipping a figure out of a block of 
common sandstone. 

What are you making?” 

An old friend. I don’t see him any more, so I make 
him here. See, he is an Indian !” 

“Yes; a very mild one,” said Ferris, laughing at the 
brown-stone image. 

“ I didn’t make him to fight,” was the quiet answer. 

“In that, my boy, you differed from nature, for she 
always makes an Indian for fighting purposes, and not for 
much else.” 

“The Indian is made to swim rivers, to ride ponies, to 
hunt, to kill his enemies, to eat, drink, walk, and think ; 
now, my Indian only thinks.” 

“ He has got a nice face,” said Renata, encouragingly; 
“ but a real, live Indian has got hateful eyes, — eyes like a 
tiger ; if all Indians were like yours, it would be better 
for us all.” 

“My Indian is made for your minds; it is not made, 
for scalping other Indians.” 

“You must put an ideal bear, my boy, at his side, — 
a bear that is not carnivorous, but is simply ornamental. 
Turn your head a little towards me, the chin slightly 
down ; thank you. What a deal of fudge the Germans 
write about the ideal, — the ideal warrior, the ideal land- 
scape, the ideal tree, and all that sort of thing. My ad- 
vice is,” and he drew himself up proudly, “ to throw all 
that nonsense aside, go to nature, study her, learn her 


IS A POPE GEE A TEE THAN GOD r i6i 

by heart, and train your hand to tell what your eye sees. 
That is whaf the Greeks did. A sculptor then was a great 
sculptor, not because he had written a book on aesthetics, 
or lectured about the beautiful ; it was simply because he 
had imitated nature successfully in stone. This is the age 
of books ; everybody has a small Alexandrian library, and 
he rushes to that for everything. (A little more towards 
me. Miss Renata, if you please ; there, that is good.) 
Why, there is the great English critic Ruskin, who wrote 
five volumes about one painter ; and he was a poor dauber 
after all. And will any man in his senses say that all of 
Turner’s pictures are worth the Laocoon, which, the other 
day, some wooden-headed wiseacre said was a degenerate 
specimen of Greek art ? Five volumes about a third-rate 
painter, and only a hundred lines about Shakspeare ! 
Why, the world is crazy about writing and publishing 
books. Whenever sensible people wake up to the idea of 
the immense injury done to the human mind by bad books, 
slangy newspapers, and all the trash which is yearly 
penned and printed, they will make it a penitentiary 
offense to either print, write, or aid and assist in writing 
or publishing a bad book.” 

My papa don’t read much, but he writes a good deal,” 
said Renata. 

For that very reason then. Miss Knappe, his writing 
may be worth something ; for it certainly is not the result 
of his reading.” 

An hour later the bishop entered with a couple of gen- 
tlemen, who, to judge by their black coats and sallow 
complexions, were also priests. Renata skipped from 
her post, and sat down beside the amateur sculptor, who 
was very earnestly cutting a belt around his Indian. 

Where did you go so suddenly the other day when 
the storm came? we were worried to death about you.” 


t 62 


THE LOST MODEL, 


“ You don't believe me that I like storms. Some day 
I will go away in one, and if I ever come back it will be 
in a great noisy one.” 

‘‘ You cannot frighten me in daytime with those kind 
of stories; it is only at night-time I am afraid. Miss 
Leslie thinks you only a ghost ; she told me yesterday 
she doesn’t believe you ever sleep.” 

“ Miss Leslie knows what she wants to put into her 
mouth, and what clothes she likes to wear; all beyond 
that is the land of the unknown.” 

“Well, a pretty girl need not trouble herself about 
much else, especially if she is rich.” 

“Yes ; but nature did not make her pretty for me ; as 
your father says, at my standpoint she is quite ugly. 
Now, my Indian here is better looking, because you know 
what you buy. Some things deceive you if you are 
ignorant, — lead looks like silver, and tomatoes like apples 
or peaches ; a loafer looks like a good man, and it takes 
a wise head to know a thief by his looks. So with Miss 
Leslie. If she was only half as handsome as her clothes, 
how beautiful she would be !” 

“Where do you learn those things ? Sometimes Red- 
wood, when he speaks philosophy, talks like that, only I 
don’t understand it all. Miss Leslie told me what she 
considers is something awful about you ; she says that you 
are not a Christian, and she believes that you do not 
know the difference between the Holy Ghost and Satan.” 

“ Do you?” 

“ Oh, yes. I learned all that before I was confirmed ; 
when I was quite a little girl. I tell you what, Parthee, 
to-morrow, or some other day, you must go with me to 
Father Kreuzer, and he will explain it all to you. It’s 
beautiful when you know it.” 

“ Why go to Father Kreuzer when the great Bishop of 


IS A POPE G PEA TER THAN GOD? 


163 


Boshville is here at our sides ; he says he knows and has 
spoken to the man — the only man in this world — who 
knows God and talks with him often.” 

‘‘No, no, Parthee,” said the girl, frowning, don’t 
you believe that. In his church, God is a dreadful way 
off. Why, there is first the common priest,” and she 
commenced to count them on her fingers, “then there is 
another one a little higher, then three or four before you 
reach the bishop, then comes the archbishop, — and he is 
awful sometimes, with his gold hat, gold stick, red and 
gold garments, and a great bald head ; then come a lot 
more with eyes close together and a sickly kind of smile, 
until you reach the cardinal, and he is like the archbishop 
only with different clothes and another shaped hat, and 
finally you come to the pope, and he — I saw him,” and 
she lowered her voice, “and he is a little fat Italian with 
a bad cough. Now, remember, Parthee, you haven’t yet 
come to God.” 

The young sculptor put aside the tools, folded his arms, 
and looked admiringly down into the earnest face and 
bright eyes of the girl as she expounded the mysteries of 
the “ Holy Roman Catholic Church,” as she saw it many 
years ago at Rome. 

“And what are you speaking about so earnestly, you 
two idle ones?” inquired the archbishop, with the con- 
descending smile on his healthy countenance which 
charmed and delighted so many of his flock. 

“I was telling Parthee,” said the girl, blushing, “that 
six years ago I was at Rome, and saw the pope.” 

“So your father has often told me; he is very proud 
of the smile the holy father gave him ; but Renata prefers 
a younger-looking person. Nicht? And you, my ama- 
teur sculptor, have you been receiving a lesson in theology, 
you seem so puzzled ?’ ’ 


164 


THE LOST MODEL. 


She thinks that God is a long way off in your religion,” 
said Parthee. 

“Ha, how is that? Does Miss Knappe want the sun 
as near as the stove or the lamp on the side-walk? Tell 
me what you mean.” 

“I don’t know how that comes,” said the girl, hesi- 
tating, “ but when I was at Rome, God seemed a dreadful 
way off from the poor people there. The day we went to 
St. Peter’s was a holy day, and there were thousands of 
people there in the beautiful church. Presently the 
pope came in, carried on the shoulders of tall, handsome 
men, dressed in green velvet, with swords and spears ; and 
he had caught a cold, for as he passed us he coughed once 
or twice. In front of him was a big stately-looking man, 
with a large feather fan, and he waved the people on their 
knees. Then on the sides, and behind, there marched 
long rows of men in red dresses, with petticoats, then a 
long row of men in black gowns and bald heads and 
long, handsome beards, and then a long row of men, 
some so fat they could scarcely walk, in white robes with 
black sticks in their hands, and after these came still long 
rows of monks with cowls and big black eyes staring at 
you. Now, I thought if I had to go before all these peo- 
ple, walk by all these men in their showy dresses and 
solemn faces and kneel down before the pope and tell 
him my trouble, I should die long before I ever reached 
his footstool. And God is still away behind all these 
great men ! Now, in my church it is very different ; 
you know I am a Lutheran. On a Sunday morning, it 
takes papa so long to clean himself and get ready to visit 
his patients that I am always a little late. Last Sunday 
morning, when I got there the hymn was sung and all the 
people were on their knees praying. When Father Kreuzer 
sees me come in, he pauses in the prayer, smiles at 


IS A POPE GREATER THAN GODf 


165 


me, and before he closes his eyes, sees that I am in the 
little pew, and then he stretches out his big brown hand 
over me, and I feel that God is so near that I have only 
to think, and He hears even me ! Oh,” said the enthu- 
siastic girl, and the old radiant smile came back, Father 
Kreuzer says, ‘ Come late, Renata, if you cannot come 
soon, but always come ; because when I pray, and I see 
you there before me, I feel that my little chicken is safe 
under the wing of the protecting angel.’ And then he 
takes a pinch of snuff, and nods his head earnestly at 
what he says.” 

“You did not tell us. Miss Renata, if this snuff-taking 
pastor of yours was a hard-shell or a soft-shell,” said Fer- 
ris, coming to the rescue in the awkward silence which 
followed. 

“ ‘From the mouths of babes and sucklings,’ etc.,” said 
the archbishop, smiling and patting gently the fingers of 
the girl as he held her hand in a manner which perplexed 
her very much. 

When Renata afterwards narrated this scene to her 
father and Redwood, the latter laughed until the tears 
ran down his cheeks, but the former was very angry, 
called her a sheeps-head and other uncomplimentary 
terms, and went secretly that very night and apologized 
to the archbishop for the girl’s rudeness and stupidity. 
The wary old divine told him that the lazy gardener was 
always troubled a good deal with the weeds, and that the 
crime of neglect was sometimes the greatest crime of all. 

“ There,” said the sculptor, returning from showing his 
guests to the carriage, “our friend, the archbishop, has 
imitated his master by returning good for evil. You, 
Miss Renata, treated the holy father very unceremoni- 
ously, and I don’t doubt irritated the old gentleman a 
good deal, for he winced in spite of his perennial smile ; 

15 


i66 


THE LOST MODEL. 


but he nevertheless praised your image here very much. 
In expression and general contour, he said it was the 
noblest head he had ever met with in life; and those 
excellencies I have taken from you, leaving out a promi- 
nent trait of your beauty — I mean your clear red and white 
complexion — which, of course, is lost to the sculptor.” 

^‘Oh,” said the girl, laughing, “you have been doing 
what you scolded Parthee for, making an ideal. The 
Renata that cooks, scrubs, washes the dishes, and once 
caught the scarlet fever, is a very different being from the 
pure white figure there. That is an ideal ; but this is — 
something else,” and as she looked at Parthee, she 
sighed. “Redwood explained all that to me once, and 
to understand it one has to think it out like a sum in 
arithmetic.” 

“Redwood is an intelligent man, and a very paradoxi- 
cal one. For instance, he says that the Christian religion 
is founded upon a fiction, and yet the reason why we 
have no art in England or America is because our relig- 
ious worship is based upon selfishness and sham. The 
religion itself is a humbug, but as long as you believe in 
it you are all right, and can do something really clever, 
but the moment you discover its fallacy, all capability 
leaves you so far as art is concerned,” said the sculptor. 

An hour later, Renata and Parthee left for home. It 
was a curious sight to see the pair arm in arm, like a 
couple of children, saunter along the pavement, now 
stopping to admire the beauties of a shop-window, and 
now pausing while a regiment of soldiers marched by 
with beating drums and flying flags. 

“ I hate war,” said Renata, with a sigh ; “ it is noisy. 
Look at the wives and children of these men, — poor and 
left without anybody to protect them. Don’t you wish 
it would stop forever?” 


/S A POPE GREATER THAN GOD? 


167 

‘^Not I, little girl. Every day I look at my hunting- 
dress, and say to-morrow I will go.” 

'‘Yes, you are just as selfish as the rest.” 

When they had reached the doctor’s office, and before 
Renata could bid her companion good-by, Caspar rushed 
out, and, pulling his sister by the dress, hurried her in. 

"Colonel Denham has been here since ten o’clock 
waiting to see you. He is going to the front, and may 
never come back. I tell you they are fighting in the 
South, but we will thrash them for their nonsense.” 

Colonel Denham rose as she entered. "I began to 
think,” he said, "that I should have to leave without 
seeing either you or your father. We have received our 
marching orders, and this day we start.” 

She looked at him in his military costume, and said, 
naively, "How well you look. Poor papa, how he will 
miss you ; he will have no one, now, to talk about Burg- 
miller with !” 

"And is papa, then, the only one who will miss me?” 

She looked at him with her large blue eyes, and he 
saw that his words awoke no echo in her heart. She 
pressed him to stay, but he refused with a dejected air. 

As he took his hat and moved towards the door, she 
said, "Stay, I will give you an amulet.” And taking 
the blue ribbon from her wrist, she made a pretty bow 
around the button of his coat, and said, earnestly, "Now, 
whenever you are in danger, wear that, and you see you 
will never be harmed. That is a real charm, and it ain’t 
foolish a bit.” 

He kissed the little fingers, and muttered something to 
her in a whisper. After he was gone, she said to Caspar, 
"He seems altered, don’t he to you? Poor fellow! he, 
too, has his troubles ; I shall soon begin to think with 
father, that this is a wretched mean world.” 


i68 


THE LOST MODEL. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WAR IS NOT YET DEAD. 

Doctor Knappe and Redwood sat at the breakfast- 
table, and discussed the war. 

What a deuce of a time we are having ! it gets worse 
and worse ; it is enough to drive a man crazy. Here for 
the last six months is war — civil war — raging, and young 
and old are drilling, drumming, and marching; and 
night after night the air is filled with squealing fife, 
tattoos, and men, women, and children howling in the 
streets like Indians. My boy is out every morning at 
sunrise, and comes home late at night covered with mud 
and dirt. And now in the midst of one pandemonium, 
another starts up. Here is an election which, of all 
things under heaven, is the most chaotic. Bonfires and 
torch-light processions by loafers are now taking place, 
and at every street-corner is a patriot with a voice like a 
cannon, howling at you that Jones is a liar and a thief, 
and you must consequently vote for Brown. You know, 
Albert, how we have been forced to subscribe for militia 
uniforms, guns for the home-guards, and all that kind of 
thing, and now they pluck me for money for an election 
campaign. It beats the devil !” 

“The news is bad,” said Redwood; “we have lost a 
fight in Missouri ; and before I left the office last night, 
there came a dispatch that the president would call for 
one hundred thousand more men for ninety days. The 
chances are that we will get a visit herd from some of the 


PVAJ? IS NOT YET DEAD. 169 

cavalry guerrilla parties, unless they organize a pretty 
strong defense.” 

Organize ! Great heavens, there is nothing else but 
organization ! Every other man you meet is a general or 
a colonel, and the officers are galloping around and 
through the city like circus-riders.” 

*‘We are in the fight, Conrad, and grumbling won’t 
get us out of it. There will be a number of wounded 
here from the battle yonder, and you had better attend 
at the landing, and see that everything is ready for their 
reception.” 

‘^Everything is prepared,” said the doctor; “I must 
give them credit for that. There is lint enough to dress 
the wounds of a million of men, and as for bandages we 
have stacks of it ; and I presume not a lady in the city but 
has sent in her name for a position as nurse. But what in 
the name of common sense do we want an election for at 
such a time as this ? No wonder we have no great works 
of art, music, or poetry of our creation : we have never as 
a nation reached the moment of repose at which immortal 
works arise. We rush from selling a big bill of dry goods 
to a rough and tumble fight ; and where does meditation 
come in ?” 

“ The Italians of the fifteenth century were knocked 
about like shuttlecocks between His Holiness the Pope, 
and their Imperial Highnesses the German Emperor, 
French King, and Italian Dukes, and yet amid all the 
confusion of murder, sudden death, pests, and inquisi- 
tions, Raphael painted his Madonnas, and Michael Angelo 
cut his mighty figures.” 

“I know what I am going to do,” said the doctor, 
abstractedly. “I shall pack up carefully all my engrav- 
ings, letters of Burgmiller, and sketches, and ” 

“ Send them to the cemetery, and old Gottlieb, the 

15^ 


THE LOST MODEL. 


170 

sexton, will hide them in the Blair vault, or place them 
where even a rebel will not go to look for them.” 

I were to lose those sketches and aquarelles by — 
come in, Mr. Leslie, come in ; we were just talking about 
the hard times.” 

found your street-door open,” said the latter, as 
he entered and sat down, “so I walked in without ringing 
the bell. Good-morning, Redwood ; you are almost a 
stranger.” 

“What brings you here so early, Mr. Leslie?” 

“ I want you to give me something for the stomach; I 
can scarcely sleep, I suffer so much from dyspepsia. ’ ’ 

“ What did you eat this morning for your break- 
fast?” 

“ Oh, scarcely anything. I spend more money on my 
household than any man in Boshville, and yet I get less 
for my outlay. ’ ’ 

“ Well, but what did you have, for instance, this morn- 
ing for your breakfast?” 

“ Confound me if I remember. Some eggs, a couple 
of chops, coffee, and hot biscuit — what are you laughing 
at. Redwood? You must remember I only eat two 
meals a day. I don’t do like you do, stuff myself every 
hour. ’ ’ 

“You ought to be sick, you ought to die,” said Red- 
wood, rising from the table and slowly pacing the floor. 
“Twenty years ago I heard you say you could only have 
a certain number of dinners in this world, and by — you 
were going to have them all good ! With such a declara- 
tion of faith as that, you ought to have one tremendous 
meal, — commencing with oysters, and closing up with 
bottled beer, — and then burst.” 

“Well,” said Leslie, shaking his head at Redwood, 
“when I want any clerks to instruct me what and when 


fVAJ? IS HOT VET DEAD. 


I shall eat, I will call upon you ; but in the meantime I 
am running this establishment myself, and don’t need 
any help.” 

‘‘And a pretty big establishment it is,” said Redwood, 
laughing; “ I suppose you allude to your stomach.” 

“It don’t make any difference now to what I allude. 
Let me tell you something. You can’t afford to throw 
stones, because you are living in a glass house. Yes, I 
mean what I say. You sit down there, and wait ; I have 
something to tell you, — and something important, too. 
And now, Knappe, give me something to get out of this 
trouble.” 

The doctor put his spectacles up among his hair, as he 
answered, deliberately, — 

“In the first place you must change your habits; you 
must quit for a time coffee, hot bread, lobster, and all 
that kind of thing, and live upon bread and milk, or rice 
or cracked wheat, or ” 

“ See here,” said Leslie, interrupting him, and striking 
the table with his open hand. “ I came here to get some- 
thing to relieve me from this infernal trouble in my 
chest, but I don’t want any of your d — d lectures. I’ve 
heard that from you for the last fifteen years. Now, it is 
all very pretty, and if I was a little lamb and had white 
wool, what a pet I would make. But I ain’t, and so we 
won’t cry over it. When I can’t live except I eat nothing 
but sour-krout and gruel, why I’ll jump into the river and 
end that kind of business. Now, if you have got anything 
to give me, just trot it out.” 

“Perhaps a little bromide of potassium would relieve 
you,” suggested the perplexed doctor. 

“ All right ; give me some. I don’t care what you call 
it, so long as it goes to the spot.” 

The doctor left the room in search of the remedy, and 


172 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Redwood sat down beside Leslie, with a look which be- 
trayed his ill-concealed anxiety. 

You are one of those men,” said Leslie, shaking his 
long finger at his companion, ‘‘who, like Timon, care for 
nothing or nobody, except what lies in the immediate 
circle of their own sympathies. There was a time when 
an ignoramus like I am was treated with some respect, — you 
would condescend to shed upon me a little of your supe- 
rior intelligence; but to-day all that is changed. I don’t 
know anything about Sanscrit or Hindoo philosophy, nor 
am I posted about the latest German metaphysical moon- 
shine, consequently you turn up your nose at me and my 
material tastes.” 

“You are very much mistaken, George Leslie,” said 
Redwood, starting to his feet. “ I have contempt for no 
man, least of all for you. But you and I think of dif- 
ferent things ; and when we meet, I am silent, because 
I cannot speak of matters which would interest you.” 

“Interest me? Why, everything interests me, if it is 
a real thing, and not a brain cobweb. The grass has 
grown a foot deep over my door-step since you crossed 
it, and yet I was the first one in Boshville who backed 
you, and said that you had more brains than any of 
’em.” 

“ Boshville !” said Redwood, bitterly. “ What a rock 
to be chained to by poverty, and the chain of wretched, 
indigent circumstances ! Who would not be silent when 
he is surrounded by men and women who worship what 
is ignoble, and hate what is really and permanently noble? 
Why, I came near starving to death, because I was 
modest ! They who call themselves my friends, lecture 
me because I have a quartette of fiddlers in my room on 
Sunday, and prefer Beethoven to a ranting, howling 
Methodist; and lately because I hinted that there was 


PVAJ^ IS NOT YET DEAD. 


173 


more truth in the Indian Vedas than in the Old Testa- 
ment, even the old swindler, Boggs, — who has failed in 
business every four years, and grown richer at every 
alleged bankruptcy, — why, even he insulted me on the 
street for my infidelity. Oh, we are a nice lot of Philis- 
tines!” 

All that is a matter of taste. You like one thing, we 
like another. There is one thing, however, of more im- 
portance to you, and let me tell you that. Rumor for a 
long time has been busy with your name. I presume you 
know what it says ; if you don’t, you can hear it from my 
lips as well as reading it some morning in the public 
newspapers. ’ ’ 

know what you allude to,” said Redwood. ‘‘You 
mean the Leonard affair.” 

“Precisely! Now I have my opinion of the whole 
thing j but that would not help you in the present case. 
For instance, I have purchased Leonard and his lying 
sheet on several occasions, and I know that anything 
which is his can be purchased with money. The long- 
eared public does not know that fact, nor are they likely 
to find it out. Now, since you have gone over to that 
other paper, there has been more or less sparring between 


“I never wrote a line against him personally.” 

“Well, if you did not, the chief editor did; and to- 
day the people talk of the lashing which you gave 
Leonard ; so you get the benefit of it. Now I come to 
what I have to say. Leonard pretends that he has just 
discovered his wife’s falseness, and threatens to kill you 
at sight. This may be mere brag. It may be a trick to 
turn those in his favor who have already hinted that his 
virtue is imaginary. At all events, you know his state- 
ment of the wrong would win everybody who does not 


THE LOST MODEL, 


Tt74 

know him like you or I, to his side. Had you not better 
leave this place, — leave it this very day, — go to Kansas, 
go anywhere in the West, and get out of a trouble which, 
I warn you, is too much for you?” 

Redwood paced the floor for a few moments in great 
agitation. 

‘^He forced that woman upon me for his own pur- 
poses. It was his infamous boast that every man had 
his price, and he had found mine. Be it so. But you 
do not know, nor ever will, the price I paid. The slave 
for years of a scoundrel who possessed no stronger motive 
in his heart or head than the love of money, and sought 
no higher reward on earth than a cheap, but constant 
notoriety. On my shoulders he stepped from the dung- 
hill of his own obscurity to the tripod of a public prophet. 
To-day I tire of the burden, and fling it off, and now he 
threatens to kill me. Well, a man dies but once, — and 
yet, Leslie, he dares no more attack me to my face than 
he dares to tell the truth.” 

Do you say so?” said Leslie, starting up. ‘‘Then 
come with me and we will settle this business on the spot. 
You shall tell your story to him in my presence, and if 
he wants to fight he shall fight right there, and if he at- 
tempts to take advantage of you. I’ll settle him, by — , 
and fifty like him. You shall have fair play. I have not 
been in a fight for twenty years, but, as I believe in you, 
you shall be righted. You’re no sneak, and he shall not 
treat you as one. I don’t scare much on these kind of 
things, and the sooner you let Leonard know that you 
will fight him on this line, the better for you.” 

“No, no, Leslie, that will only make matters worse. 
The public scandal will be worse than death to her, if not 
to me. She is worthy a better fate. There are some 
things I cannot explain at present; time, however, will 


WAJ^ IS NOT YET DEAD. 


175 


tell the whole story. Besides, I must not drag you down 
into the mire with me. I know him, and think that at 
present he will do nothing; he is a dreadful braggart. 
There must be some other motive, some public notoriety 
to be gained, before he will take such a step. It is a 
dreadful thing, but at last I can see a way out of it. Give 
me another month, — say nothing about it, — and we will 
be beyond the reach of his hurt. Conrad knows my plan 
and approves of it ; it is feasible, and there is nothing to 
prevent its execution. Hush ! here he 'comes.” 

‘‘There, take a little of that upon your tongue, Leslie, 
and that may give you some relief; and as you go by 
Brown’s drug store, have this prescription prepared and 
use according to the directions. In these kind of com- 
plaints, it is precisely as I tell you : deal gently with your 
stomach, and it will deal gently with you.” 

“Yes, yes, we know all about that,” said Leslie; “your 
lectures are very entertaining, but I prefer your drugs. 
Whew! that’s bitter stuff! I wonder if I am going to be 
plagued with this thing for the balance of my life?” 

“You don’t mean to say, Leslie;” said the doctor, 
“that you are plagued, that you have any trouble? A 
man as rich as you are, and as independent as you are ; 
with the finest house in town, the largest garden, and 
the longest bank-account. Why, if you are plagued 
and are not happy, what do you think we poor devils 
suffer?” 

“What does the philosopher say?” interposed Red- 
wood; “upon the stage one plays the role of a prince, 
another that of a councillor, and a third a servant, or a 
soldier, or general, and so on. The difference between 
them, however, is simply external, in the dress ; inter- 
nally they are all alike ; the kernel’, the centre of each 
figure or phenomenon, is a poor devil of a player, with 


176 


THE LOST MODEL. 


his troubles, wants, and necessities. It is the same in 
life. Is he right or wrong, Leslie ?’ ’ 

Caspar came in dressed as a Boshville zouave; and 
holding in his hand a letter. 

Oh, papa, we are all ordered out for ninety days to 
Virginia. The governor’s proclamation has just been 
issued, and our regiment starts this afternoon at two 
o’clock. And here is a letter from Colonel Denham, 
offering me a position upon his staff ; now if I only had 
a horse, what a time I would have ! ’ ’ 

You will go to neither,” said the doctor, decidedly. 
*‘You are too young for a private, and too silly and 
thoughtless for an officer. Denham is talking nonsense 
when he fills your head with such propositions.” 

“See here,” said Leslie, “doctor, I do not want to 
interfere with your family arrangements, but I would 
advise you to let the boy go. He is not too young, and 
we are not too old, and before a year the chances are 
that you and I will have to play soldier as well as the 
rest. This is no ninety-days’ war, whatever the newspapers 
or Scott may say. It is going to be a fight for life. Mark 
what I tell you. Now, Redwood, come with me ; I want 
to say a word or two to you,” and the pair left the house 
together. 

That afternoon, while Renata was crying and packing 
things in Caspar’s knapsack, and the doctor and Kettle 
were solemnly looking on, and the latter was specially 
admiring the handsome boy in his showy uniform, Franz, 
the musician, came in. He had a face a yard long, for this 
“war bissiness,” as he called it, was driving him away, 
and he came to say good-by. The doctor did not say 
much to Franz’s long tirade about the uncertainties of 
everything, from a pupil to your own life, in a republic. 

The doctor was brooding over a speech which he was 


IS NOT VET DEAD. 


177 


about to deliver to Caspar, and watching his opportunity 
he took the latter aside, and commenced very gravely an 
address. 

War, actual war, is not the circus you imagine, my 
dear boy. A bleak, severe winter does not differ more 
from a soft, genial summer than does the actual contest of 
men from the dress-parades of soldiers in times of peace. 
You are going to make a very bitter experience, and I 
feel sorry, Caspar, from the bottom of my heart for you. 
What will become of you on the long and weary marches, 
the nights you will spend sleeping, or trying to sleep, in 
muddy fields and sloppy roads, the dirt of the camp-life, its 
brutality, its selfishness, its fevers, and its predatory life?” 

‘‘Oh, father,” said the boy impatiently, “that thing 
is all changed now. War has become a science as accurate 
as mathematics, and it has its rules and regulations just 
as peace has.” 

“Well, so much the better, my boy. I only hope that 
it will answer your expectations. One thing, however, I 
want you to remember: let the killing and destruction be 
limited then by your scientific rules, and no more of it 
than is absolutely necessary. Another thing: Colonel 
Denham has written that he will see that you get a posi- 
tion on his staff, so that you will, no doubt, become an 
officer, and have men under your command. Now, they 
tell me that many of the rich Southern gentlemen have 
houses full of fine pictures and statues which, as men of 
high cultivation and love of beauty, they have surrounded 
themselves with. Now, Caspar, no vandalism ! I tell 
you, my boy, a noble work of art is of more importance 
than a thousand lives. If I was President of America, 
there are a hundred thousand men, loafers, political bum- 
mers, and vagabonds, whom I would willingly give for the 
one-armed statue of Apollo, at Rome.” 

16 


THE LOST MODEL. 


178 

While the good doctor was thus instructing his son how 
he should behave on the thorny path of war, Franz was 
pronouncing his own valedictory to the fair Renata, which 
made her laugh even through her tears. 

‘‘ I am a ver’ sad, miserable man,” he added, in a low, 
whining voice, which he intended to be pathetic. Here, 
in Boshville, get along ver’ well, know nice people, see 
you, and feel first-rate, when boom ! war comes, people 
stop going to work and cut each other’s throats. No 
more pupils, no more opera, no more nothing. Ah, life 
is dreadful. Now I go to Canada ; must make salt some 
way or another. And if, Mees Renata, I only had your 
beautiful picture to pray to, to look at in my solitudes 
and miserey I should still have some sunshine.” 

There is no knowing how far the agile tongue of the 
musician would have gone, had not the doctor stopped 
for breath, and Caspar insisted that he must leave 
instanter. 

*‘Dear Caspar,” said Renata, in his ear, as she kissed 
him good-by, ‘^now be brave; don’t think nor worry 
about glory, honor, fame, and all that kind of nonsense. 
But do your duty, like papa does, and leave the rest to 
God.” 

Franz got the picture he desired from the good-natured 
doctor, and a new Tuart bow for his violin ; and yet, when 
he saw Renata kissing her brother, he went away with a 
very unsatisfied expression upon his face. 


AS YOU SO IV, SO SI/ALL YOU REAP.' 


179 


CHAPTER XV. 

YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP.” 

“Is Ira Leonard in?” inquired our old acquaintance, 
Mr. Leslie, of the servant, as he stood holding his horse’s 
head with one hand, and with his riding-whip broke off 
the tips of the grass that fronted the mansion of the pro- 
prietor of one of the leading newspapers in Boshville. 
The servant hesitated a moment, as debating in her own 
mind what to say, and then said she would see, and 
disappeared up the broad staircase which fronted the 
hall. Leslie tied up his horse, and when the servant 
came back she told him Mr. Leonard would see him in 
his library, and she pointed to the door of the editor’s 
sanctum. 

When Mr. Leslie entered the library he found its occu- 
pant pulling up the blinds to let in the daylight, and 
yawning and stretching himself like a man who had been 
awakened from an afternoon siesta. There were bottles 
upon the table, some containing whisky, and others which 
had contained Congress water, stumps of cigars, the 
remains of a breakfast, and a large pile of newspapers. 
Leonard himself had a very white and bloated face, his 
hands trembled and his eyes were bloodshot. 

“ Come in, Leslie, come in. You are about the last 
man in Boshville I expected to see here. Take a seat, 
take a seat ; things are pretty much mixed up here, but I 
guess we can find one another.” 

As the speaker seated himself upon a lounge in front of 


i8o 


THE LOST MODEL. 


the window, and the light fell upon him, he presented 
rather a striking appearance. His thick throat was 
swelled out almost level with his jaw, and when he spoke 
he looked something like a bullfrog; his small, black 
eyes were nearly hid beneath the beetle brows which 
overshadowed them ; and as he sat rolled up in his dress- 
ing-gown, he jerked his head and shoulders like a man 
going into or coming out of a fit of delirium tremens. 

“Upon my word,” said Leslie, after he had critically 
surveyed his host, “you look as though you had been 
through the mill as well as the meal. Have you been 
fighting the tiger ? or been buried by mistake ?’ ’ 

“ I wish to God I was buried, or something else ! No, 
no, I don’t fight the tiger.” (A slang phrase for gam- 
bling.) “I have had a devil of a time generally, Leslie, 
but it is no use talking about it. Have a little Bourbon? 
There’s some splendid stuff in that bottle : it is ten years 
old, or Watkins lies; take a little: it goes right to the 
spot.” 

“Has Erie been giving you a shake? I heard the 
market broke yesterday, and the bulls were lying thick 
on the field of battle.” 

“Oh, of course, the swindling thieves of Wall Street 
got up a corner, in which I was to have a share, but they 
sold me out as usual.” 

Leslie laughed. “For a sharp man you astonish me. 
You believe in betting your money on stocks. Now, I 
used to gamble myself, and am pretty good at monte, 
euchre, or even keno ; I have played the rascals on the 
Mississippi, but I warrant you I held my own. But to 
bet a copper on the railroad stocks which are bought and 
sold in Wall Street is to throw away your money on a 
lot of thimble-riggers. And you don’t even have the 
satisfaction of knowing who has got your money.” 


YOU SOJV, SO SHALL YOU REAPJ' l8i 

“Well, that is only half true, Leslie. I hafve made 
money at it, and I have lost j it is like everything else, it 
needs judgment.” 

“Judgment! Between ourselves, Leonard, you need 
not brag about your judgment. Why, man, even in your 
profession you’ve got somehow on the wrong side. It is 
a strange thing that for years your paper has been inde- 
pendent, neither advocating Democracy nor Republican- 
ism, but pitching generally into everybody ; and in that 
line it made its mark, as well as you made a fortune. All 
at once, however, it takes a side in politics, and, what is 
worse, it takes the losing side. Now, where is the ju(Jg- 
ment in that?” 

“You are wrong, Leslie; I understand these things 
better than you do, because I am in the ring, and you 
are merely an outsider, a spectator. Please push that 
bottle towards me ; thank you.” * 

“Well, the best you can do is to get out of the ring. 
In this war the North will conquer, it is sure to conquer ; 
and the why is as plain as the nose on your face. We 
have ten men to their one. The same thing will take 
place here as in Mexico. They will teach us how to 
fight, and then we will whip them.” 

“I know better, Leslie, I know better. Virginia alone 
has got fifty thousand men in the field, and each man is 
equal to five of our shop-boys. Don’t tell me! Why, 
they will serve our fellows like a handful of English did 
the Sikhs in India and the savages in Africa; they will 
go through them like a dose of salts. Yes, sir, like a dose 
of salts. But latterly I haven’t got a man on my staff that 
can write worth a d — n.” He paused, and then added, 
slowly, “The fellow I taught to do the business sold me 
out like the rest ?” 

“You mean Redwood.” 


, 6 * 


i 82 


THE LOST MODEL. 


There was no answer, but an impatient clutch at the 
glass, and a muttered imprecation. ^ 

“Wait until I light my cigar; it is on that theme I 
came to see you, Leonard. Now, don’t fly off the handle ; 
we will talk that matter over, if you have got any talk in 
you.” 

He lit his cigar, and, drawing his chair near to the 
lounge where Leonard sat, blew the rings of smoke over 
his head, towards the open window. 

“ You and I know each other well enough to talk a 
matter over on which we differ, without quarreling. I 
may be wrong, and you may be right, nevertheless, I can 
give you my view. I can give you my advice ; and if you 
don’t like it, why, don’t follow it. Now then. I have 
known Redwood from childhood, — not intimately, as you 
have, but I have known him over a longer period. His 
father and I were old cronies. He kept the best horses 
in the West, and the best table at his house. When any 
man of distinction came out here, they took him to old 
Redwood’s, on the river bank, and he would entertain him 
like a prince. He was munificent, and, consequently, 
like Timon, he got poor at last; but he always kept up 
his old, generous habit, and they say he spent his last fifty 
cents in treating five of his friends to drink. He com- 
menced life in the large end of the horn of plenty, or 
cornucopia, and died in the small end of it. This boy — 
who was always a pet of the old people — went to Europe, 
and we lost sight of him for a number of years. When 
he did come back, his parents were dead, and the rest of 
the family scattered ; and he himself was the oldest young 
man in the West. He had studied everything which was 
of no earthly value to him, such as philosophy, and all 
that sort of thing, and, although he could speak five lan- 
guages, he could not make out a shoemaker’s bill to save 


YOU SO IV, SO SHALL YOU REAP:' 


his life. He was reflective, speculative, wore his hair and 
beard long, read all the night, slept half the day, and 
wandered through the city like a stranger in search of 
the lunatic asylum. His friends had managed to save 
from the wreck of his mother’s fortune a house or two, 
and, of course, the rent of these gave him something to 
live on, and we tried to get him something to do in the 
way of teaching. Do you remember old Boker, who 
owned the saw-mill just over the creek?” 

No ; he was before my time.” 

‘‘Well, it makes no difference. Old Boker hired him 
to teach his two cubs Latin and arithmetic. They say 
that one day old Boker, who had a religious turn of mind 
after playing the scamp for fifty years, asked Redwood 
what was the difference between religion and philosophy. 

“‘Religion,’ said Redwood, ‘attempts to teach you 
something about God, which is impossible; while phi- 
losophy teaches you to know yourself, which is not only 
possible, but the only thing worth knowing.’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ growled old Boker, ‘I prefer to know some- 
thing about God.’ 

“ ‘You are right,’ was the answer; ‘ for you certainly 
are not worth knowing.’ Oh, he was mighty impudent 
when he had an inclination to be so. (By the by, what 
are you drinking there, whisky? Take care, that is a 
pretty stiff horn.) Well, what was I saying? So, he 
passed from pillar to post, harmless enough, but doing 
little and making less. Finally, to make a long story 
short, you got him, and your paper, Leonard, from an 
evening became a morning paper, and from five thousand 
subscribers got to fifty thousand. And people here say, 
they say, that Redwood made the change.” 

While Leslie was speaking, Leonard had frequently 
helped himself to the contents of a bottle which stood 


i84 


THE LOST MODEL. 


near him, and after each drink the bloodshot eyes rolled, 
the mottled face got alternately red and pale as he listened, 
and, taking off his cravat, he frequently raised his trem- 
bling hand to stop the voluble speaker, at whom he finally 
glared in disdainful silence. When the latter stopped, he 
said, in a voice trembling with passion, — 

He is a scoundrel, that’s what he is ; and I know it, if 
you don’t. Let him look out! I taught him to write; 
yes, I did, in spite of your sneer. He is a snake, he is, 
by G — ! What did I do for him ? Just look at it. I 
took him in my house, I fed him, clothed him, gave him 
books, money; I introduced him; I said he had latent 
genius, and I bet my bottom dollar on him. I was his 
Macsenas, and you ought to know it. Never mind : there 
will be a funeral some day, and I know who will be there. 
I could tell you a story, Mr. Leslie, about him, that, if it 
had been played on you, — yes, on you, — with all your latent 
friendship for him, you would have killed him at sight !” 

^‘Oh, I know what you mean. Sit down and listen. 
Sit down, I say; you know me very well; I don’t scare, 
I don’t. I am not afraid of you, nor anybody else, and 
what I make up my mind to say, I am going to say it. Do 
you know what the world says about that story?” 

‘‘I don’t care what the world says, — they are all liars 
and thieves, and they shall let me alone.” 

‘‘Pshaw!” said Leslie. And he took Leonard by the 
shoulders and pressed him down upon the lounge, and, 
standing over him, said, — 

“Pshaw ! See here. This s^ory of yours is well known 
in Boshville. Let me tell you their side of it, or, if you 
prefer it,, my side of it. Your wife, and you knew it, be- 
fore you married her, had a child by Redwood ; now, 
stop a minute, — don’t squirm until you hear it all. You 
knew the fact, for she told you ; she told you, also, she 


AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAPr 185 


only loved him, and could never love you. You marj*ied 
her, and swore you would never repea^ the story of her 
disgrace. You were satisfied to have the wittiest, and 
one of the prettiest women in Boshville for your wife. 
You took Redwood there ; you insisted he should make 
his headquarters there ; you were delighted with him, — 
he was witty, wrote pungently, and was, for five years, 
your right bower. And what followed, if you did not 
know and abet, then, instead of being one of the sharpest 
men, you are, without doubt, the dullest head in Bosh- 
ville.” 

There was a singular gleam in the small, black eyes of 
Leonard, as he said, in a constrained manner, ‘‘All right; 
I see you are well posted. Now get off of me and sit 
down. There is only one word to say about it on my 
part, and that is that as I have always fought my own 
battles through life, I shall not call upon anybody to 
assist me. You can’t judge for me. At all events I shall 
do what I think to be proper, and let the rest slide.” 

There was a tap upon one of the windows, which served 
as a door and led into the garden, and when Leonard 
opened it and stepped out upon the veranda, Leslie saw 
him in close conversation with a man who turned his back 
to the house. When Leonard came back his manner was 
quite changed, and, with a simulated cordiality, he spoke 
and looked at his companion. 

“ It may be as you say, Leslie, at all events you and I 
won’t fight over it ; nor is it your fight anyhow. Some of 
these times, when my head is a little clearer than it is to- 
day, you and I will talk it over; and in the meantime 
say nothing about it. I have got some business on hand 
at present which needs my instant attention, and you’ll 
excuse me if I go at it.” And he commenced pulling off 
his dressing-gown. 


i86 


THE LOST MODEL. 


‘*ph, certainly,” said the other, relighting his cigar ; 

no apologies, you are in your own house ; and, as you 
say, we will talk this matter over at some other time. 
And as I don’t intend to say anything, why, I expect you 
won’t do anything. Good-by. You need not trouble 
yourself; I know the way out, and my horse is at the 
door. Good-by.” 

When Leslie had mounted his horse, he seemed a little 
uncertain which way to go. He muttered, as he adjusted 
his feet in the stirrups, That fellow looked to me like 
Pritchard, the detective, who used to be on the police 
force. I wonder if it was ! There is something up here 
now. I’ll ride over to Bob Bangle’s and take his advice.” 
And he started off at a canter in the direction of the office 
of the chief of police. 

On the very same road, a few minutes before. Redwood 
had passed, walking hurriedly in the direction of the 
beautiful valley and woods called Beech Grove. The 
autumn, or fall, was advanced, and the trees wore their 
gayest colors, as though celebrating the carnival before 
they entered upon the bleak austerities of winter; and 
the edges of the roads and pathways were strewed with 
their “golden tears.” The squaw’s winter had passed 
over the wood, field, and valley, and every bush, tree, and 
fern had recorded the event in gold and red. The sky 
was cloudless, the sunlight and air warm, and but for the 
dry leaves which crackled beneath his feet, and dropped 
upon him as he passed. Redwood would have thought he 
was meeting the spring. 

As he walked he muttered to himself, “ The summers 
are too hot, dry, arid, and oppressive ; the winters are 
too changeable, — to-day freezing the mercury in the ther- 
mometer, and to-morrow a warm rain; and the spring 
itself is cold, bleak, and comfortless, but the autumn is 


AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAPy 187 


the real harvest for me. The air is breezy, yet warm ; 
and Dame Nature is quiet and expansive, like a man after 
a feast, who, as he sits with the dessert, and his brain sings 
with the fumes of the wine, tells the half-fledged thoughts 
of his heart to the smile of a friend.” He paused a 
moment as an immense flock of birds, following in broad 
circles, drove, wedge-like, their way through the air in a 
southerly direction. 

^‘Follow the summer if you like it ! If I were a bird I 
should follow the autumn ; a gleaner is as good as a reaper 
any day.” ♦ 

He turned from the main road, and descended the 
slope that led directly to the grove ; and as he leaped the 
rude Virginia fence, which served as a kind of boundary 
line from the neighboring fields and pasture-lands, a veiled 
figure of a woman came eagerly towards him. 

“ Woman-like, I have been here in advance of the time. 
It is some time since you scolded me for being late, 
Albert.” 

‘‘Did I ever scold you? Take up your veil, and let 
me see if the summer roses of the East have left you any 
of their color. Humph, very little ! and yet you are 
greatly improved. Sit down on this mossy bank, and tell 
me how you have enjoyed yourself ; for with me your 
absence has been keenly felt.” 

“ It is delightful to hear you say so. Do you remember 
you once tried to persuade me that time did not exist ? 
Well, a week ago, when the train was almost flying with 
me towards you, I felt that time was a terrible reality. I 
gave up my philosophy in my agony at the time which 
separated us. Why, Albert, how gray you are getting ! 
Fie ! what an old-looking lover ! Tell me, how long has 
your excellency been true to me?” 

“ Ten years.” 


THE LOST MODEL, 


1 88 

^^Say twelve, Albert; for the fifteenth of next month 
will make twelve years since Emma died. Poor Emmy ! 
and yet how glad I am she is not here. Tell me, honestly, 
at that time what kind of a Heloise did I make ? For I 
was only a green girl, fresh from school, with more vanity 
than anything else. I cannot imagine how you ever came 
to love me at that time.” 

” You had better, Annette, ask me why, having had the 
sense to love you, I did not marry you ” 

” Stop, sir ! no introspection and reproaches. It is too 
late to cry over yesterday, too soon to cry over what to- 
morrow will bring ; let us think of to-day.” 

“ One thing is certain, Annette. No man in the world 
has the right to you that I have. Leonard paid*money for 
you, — yes, and money got dishonestly; and possession was 
all I cared for. While I have served more faithfully than 
Jacob did for Rachel, and, what is more to the purpose, 
have worked harder and performed meaner services than 
ever he did. Oh, let me finish, you impatient girl ; I am 
not complaining, but like a man whose title to his land 
has been disputed, and he brings out his deeds and 
receipts, so I, when people say I have robbed another man 
of his wife, I say to myself, I have won her with ten years’ 
slavery, in which my soul was not my own ; and she is 
mine, if the sacrifice of one life can win another.” 

Poor boy, what a price to pay !” She smoothed with 
her fingers the wrinkles on his forehead, and then kissed 
him. What do you think I made you while I was away? 
You will never guess. A sky-blue cravat, sir, that I will 
warrant will not get under your left ear. Oh, I have not 
got it with me. Tell me, what prospects are there of 
success in your new paper ?” 

‘‘Everything looks splendid, except this cursed war, 
which is raging like a prairie fire. Within a year, Annette, 


YOU SO IV, SO SHALL YOU REAPr 189 

—yes, within a year, — I will be able to take you from the 
claws of that dragon ; and away in the far West — oh, I 
know the spot ! — you shall yet forget this disgrace, and say 
if I was careless enough to drag you down into the mud 
with me I had also sufficient courage to rescue you. You 
smile, Annette, and yet I am in deadly earnest.” 

Dear Albert, I could not help laughing, for the tone 
of your voice reminded me of my first lesson in philosophy, 
in which you insisted that the great aim of life was to 
conquer one’s passions ; and yet, within a year we both 
sadly forgot our philosophy. Kiss me, and I will tell you 
a secret. Leonard is in a dreadful debauch ; he has not 
been sober for a week. He lost in stocks, he lost in 
politics, and the war goes wrong for him. Look out! 
avoid him, Albert, if you love me. To me he is silent ; 
he watches me when I go out, and when I come home ; 
what he thinks he keeps to himself. Although I do not 
fear him, for when faced he is a terrible coward, yet he is 
very dangerous. We are polite to each other before com- 
pany, but alone we neither speak nor look at each other. 
Great God ! Albert, never desert me, or I shall go raving 
mad 1 This meeting with you is the only pleasure I have ; 
and when a week passes, and I neither see nor speak to 
you, it seems as though I could crush the world between 
my fingers. No, Albert, no more schemes or plans ; let 
us be patient and wait. Let me beg of you not to ruin 
your health by work at night, or by overtaxing your 
strength. I feel at heart utterly broken : I have no longer 
the strength to battle I had even a year ago.” 

“You look every bit as young as you did ten years 
back, Annette. With other circumstances, other feelings 
will come.” 

“ Perhaps, perhaps ! Put my shawl over my shoulders ; 
this glen is too cool for me. Let me see, what was I 

17 


190 


THE LOST MODEL. 


saying? Did you hear the trampling of the branches? 
Somebody is coming this way. Give me my veil.” 

“ No, you are mistaken. • It is the noise of the men 
working in that field yonder, or my friend the squirrel 
there, who has been eyeing us for the last five minutes.” 

^‘See, Albert, the sun is setting, and I must leave you. 
God ! how rapidly the time passes when you and I are 
together ! Now, remember, all I want is your love, and 
that I must have ; and let the rest go. The human race, 
as your favorite philosopher says, “ist erbaermlich,” 
and, except yourself, I have no interest here. Let me see 
you at least once a week. Come, Albert, surely you can 
manage to meet me that often. In a short time winter 
will prevent us meeting here, and you must appoint 
another rendezvous. Do you hear me now?” 

See how thoughtful I am. Take this letter; you will 
find I have thought all the matter over, and I have written 
down the places and the times when we can meet. Never 
fear me, Annette; I have staked my life on this throw, 
and here, by your side, I live or die.” 

They walked slowly up the glen, between the huge 
poplars and buckeyes, which threw their giant shadows 
over them as they passed beneath their branches ; and 
the squirrels on the limbs, and the hawk on the topmost 
branch, started at the noise of their footsteps. 

“ Do you know what I was thinking of, Albert ? Listen. 
I wish in my heart that Leonard would lose every cent he 
owned in the world, and then, my dear boy, he would sell 
me to you for a hundred dollars.” 

‘‘You are mistaken, Annette. He holds you in his 
possession from the strongest feeling in his nature, that 
of selfish pride. Love is a stranger to him, and he knows 
in this world but one person whose will he obeys, and that 
is his own.” 


YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP: 


^^Ah, if ever the time comes, Albert, when you can 
claim me, we will build a cottage in this beautiful glen, 
here, beneath this giant beech ; and you and I might live 
and be happy, even though the grocer’s and the pork- 
merchant’s haughty dames of Boshville should turn up 
their noses at such a naughty pair. ’ ’ 

He laughed. ‘‘Good ! you are reversing the story of 
the Garden of Eden ! It would please me very much to 
be driven into such a paradise.” 

“It is singular, Albert : when I am alone, and don’t see 
you, how much I have to tell you ! and yet in your pres- 
ence I forget everything. Shall I stay till I remember?” 

“The sun is setting, Annette, and in half an hour the 
road will be too dark for you to walk home alone. See, 
the men are returning from their labor in the city, and 
even the birds yonder are flying to the forest. Good- 
night ; have patience, be courageous and strong for only 
one year longer, — one little year longer, Annette,— and 
then we will be beyond the reach of these mean and 
petty circumstances.” 

She clung to him eagerly as he spoke, and as he fastened 
the shawl around her, and arranged her veil, she embraced 
him and walked silently and reluctantly away. 

He stood with his hat off, close by the thicket where 
they had last embraced each other, and as he gazed at the 
slender, graceful figure, which turned and kissed her 
fingers at him, he said, with a sigh, “ When that is gone, 
all is lost.” 

Suddenly, from behind him, the report of a pistol rang 
in his ears like a clap of thunder ; something struck him 
in the back, and, as he staggered from the blow, his brain 
reeled, and he felt himself sinking in a sea of blood. 
As he fell, the bushes were crushed and broken aside, 
and Leonard burst his way through them, his bloated face 


192 


THE LOST MODEL. 


pale with passion, and his bloodshot eyes glaring in hatred 
at the man who was struggling upon the ground. With 
an oath, he pointed the revolver in his hand down upon 
Redwood, and would have fired upon him again, but 
that Annette had rushed to the spot, and thrown herself 
with such force against him that he staggered, and the 
shot from the pistol struck the ground. Quick as thought, 
she seized a broken branch, and struck Leonard such a 
blow upon the outraised hand that it fell to his side, and 
the pistol dropped from his grasp. With one hand she 
tore aside her veil, and with the other she picked up the 
pistol and leveled it at Leonard, who cried, — 

For Christ’s sake, don’t fire !” 

But that moment would have been his last, had not the 
stifled cry of Redwood, ‘‘Annette, Annette!” chilled 
her blood and arrested the movement. She turned aside, 
threw the weapon to the ground, and, stooping to the 
wounded man, wiped away the blood that bubbled over 
his lips, and pressed to her bosom the trembling, cold 
hand. Leonard fled, and a moment after, a loud, long, 
piercing shriek rang through the glen, startled the travel- 
ers upon the road and the laborers crossing the field ; 
and when they rushed to the spot, they found a man lying 
dead upon the ground, and lying upon his breast was the 
senseless form of the wife of Ira Leonard, 


BOOK II. 


" La raison ne connatt pas les interets du coenr.” 

Vauvenargues. 


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BOOK II. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 

Winter had just passed, and the spring, fluttering 
like a bird in the air, was trying to settle upon the trees 
and grass of Boshville and its suburban woods. No very 
great changes had taken place for the past year or two in 
the circle of the reader’s acquaintances in this nest of free 
trade. An inquest of six men, who were in that business, 
had sat upon the body of Redwood over two years ago, 
and, after examining the few witnesses who knew any- 
thing about it, had solemnly declared that he was killed 
by Ira Leonard, who was forthwith indicted for the crime. 
The body of Redwood was lying in the Excelsior Ceme- 
tery, in a lot purchased especially for that purpose by 
Dr. Knappe ; and beneath a simple tablet, with the name 
of Albert Redwood upon it, the jaded traveler slept in 
peace. 

War, civil war, was still roaring through the land. 
Battles had been fought upon the red cornfields of sum- 
mer, upon the brown leaves of autumn, upon the snow- 
drifts of winter, and upon the early spring grass. At 
Boshville the cannon had been beard more than once, 

195 


196 


THE LOST MODEL. 


and the tide of strife seemed to be rolling towards it. 
Thousands of wounded men had been brought into the 
city, and large impromptu hospitals for the sick had sud- 
denly been erected, and every possible provision made 
for the care of wounded soldiers. The ladies and women 
of Boshville turned out as nurses, and, besides doing duty 
night and day in the wards of the hospitals, they con- 
tributed, in very large quantities, bandages, lint, beds, 
and all kinds of food and delicacies for their hurt de- 
fenders. Many, let us hope the majority, did it from 
charity, and from a high sense of duty. Others followed 
the example because it was a novelty ; others to kill the 
dreadful ennui of their monotonous existences, and still 
others because it was a fashion, and the rest did it. 

Among the ladies who took a very prominent part in 
superintending these wounded sons of Mars, none were 
more zealous or prompt than the irrepressible Mrs. Portia 
Bovine. Her husband, as one of the head surgeons, was 
very busy upon the adjoining battle-fields, cutting off 
legs and arms ; and his wife being debarred from the 
privilege of assisting him there, stayed home and helped 
bind up the wounds of those sent to Boshville. As be- 
fore explained, Mrs. Portia Bovine took an immense 
delight in man’s society. Everything pertaining to the 
masculine gender entertained her; the tailors’ shops, 
with the illustrated cards of baby-faced men in fashion- 
able suits, were more precious to her eyes than the hand- 
some display of shawls and silks made by the dry goods 
dealer, — and she could never pass a barber shop, where 
the lords of the creation were stretched out in the elegant 
chairs while a darkey manipulated their heads and faces, 
but her revolving eyes slowly, but surely, took in the 
whole scene through her veil, even though the expression 
on her face would be that of a saint looking on a sinner. 


THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 


197 


Now to be called upon to attend and wait upon sick and 
wounded men was, so far as Mrs. Portia Bovine was con- 
cerned, like paying an epicure to cultivate his appetite. 
She was at the hospital early and late. 

It is true that she generally selected the young and 
good looking, but then she was indefatigable in her atten- 
tions. She was always changing the pillows for them or 
wrapping in their feet, and sometimes even turning them 
over on their sides or backs, as the case might be, for it 
was as difficult for her to keep her hands off them as it 
would be for a child to play with a piece of candy with- 
out biting it occasionally. 

But the reader will also remember that Mrs. Portia 
Bovine never forgot that she was a high-toned, virtuous 
lady ; and, fond as she was of the male sex, they never 
saw any other expression on her face than that of the 
severest propriety. In fact, as she had a very thin face 
with eyes the color of boiled gooseberries, there was not 
much room for expression of any kind, but the general 
set of her features was self-denying. The presence of 
men gave her an agreeable sensation, but she took great 
care while indulging and repeating the sensation to keep 
the secret to herself, caring nothing for the effect upon 
the men themselves. 

On the morning in question she sat in Mr. Leslie’s 
parlor with his daughter Sallie, and sipped wine and ate 
biscuits j both ladies had just returned from the hospital, 
and a couple of hats and feathers, with the long brown 
curl which it was the fashion for all ladies to wear on 
their backs, were lying side by side upon the table- 
cloth. 

“ Did you notice that handsome, black-bearded man in 
the second bed from the door in the long ward?” in- 
quired Mrs. Bovine. 


1^8 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“ I saw you talking to him a good deal. What was the 
matter with him?” 

Oh, the poor fellow is fearfully wounded on the limb 
just above the second joint, — just, above the knee, you 
know. It is placed in a box, — I saw it. Poor fellow, 
and he is so very handsome !” 

'^Well, Portia, it is all very well for you, who are a 
married lady, to go there and wait upon them. But it 
don’t suit me a bit. I am afraid that something will be 
said or done which will compel me to leave immediately. 
It is a very indelicate position for a lady, and if it was 
not for Theophilus, who insists it looks well, I certainly 
should not go at all.” 

‘‘Indeed! Why, I just love it. I’ve been with 
Quincy so often when cutting off limbs, and all that kind 
of thing, that I can put on a bandage as well as he can. 
It was a great grief for me, I can assure you, that I could 
not join Quincy when he started to the front ; but he is 
so peculiar, he thought General Hagar would not like a 
lady at headquarters, whereas I know that they would be 
delighted to have me. But so the world goes.” 

“ I tell you who I think is a real handsome fellow : that 
is Belmont, the photographist, on the avenue ; he is so 
large and splendid.” 

“Oh, he is one of my especial pets. When I played 
‘ Imogene’ for the Shakspeare Club, he took me ‘ en 
cos/ume,' and it is really a splendid picture. He always 
tells me if I was only a widow, and the doctor was dead, 
how he would set his cap for me. Yes, indeed, he is 
charming. Nothing vulgar about him.” 

“ I tell you, Portia, who I think also quite handsome, 
only he is such a slovenly dresser : and that is Dr. Knappe ; 
but there is such a want of style about him, that half the 
time he looks ridiculous.” 


THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 


199 


“Don’t I know it? Didn’t I catch him asleep the 
other night in his picture-room, the dear old thing, and 
push up the window, and tell him I would crawl through 
the window and kiss him if he didn’t go to bed like a 
good boy ! Oh, I have lots of fun with him ! But his 
daughter Renata has got the impudence of the devil.’’ 

“I think she is very pretty. I rather like her. Why 
do you say so ; did you ever quarrel with her ?’’ 

“She acted outrageously to me one day, and I shall 
never speak to her as long as I live.” 

She looked down at the little foot and elegantly clothed 
“ limb,” as she called it, and warming it carefully at the 
fire, she went on : “I’ll tell you about it. Shortly after 
that terrible affair of Redwood and Leonard, I saw her 
one evening coming from the hill, and I overtook her, 
and as it was growing late, we walked home together. 
At first she tried to get away from me, and acted quite 
rudely in not noticing what I said to her ; finally, how- 
ever, she walked by my side, and in answer to my ques- 
tion of where she had been so late, she answered she had 
been visiting Mrs. Leonard, who was not expected to 
live. Mrs. Leonard ! mind you, the woman who so far 
forgot her station, her position, her education, and her 
reputation, as to visit the woods with an old lover ! I 
said something like this, when she turned upon me like a 
lion. ‘ Mrs. Leonard is a nobler and better woman than 
you are,’ said she. ‘What!’ I said, ‘do you dare to 
compare me with a woman who degrades her body ?’ 
‘ Better degrade her body to one man than her soul and 
mind to every good-looking fool she meets with 1’ she 
cried. I declare I did not know what to say ; she spoke 
so loud that I was scared to death for fear the people 
should hear us. 

“ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘ Miss Knappe, we will not quarrel on 


200 


THE LOST MODEL. 


the street, like a couple of fish-women, — at least, I will 
not ; and, in closing this affair, I shall simply remark 

that a virtuous lady ’ Before I could get the words 

out of my mouth she turned upon me like a tigress, 
and said, ‘ A woman who is virtuous from calculation and 
fear, is worse than the baddest woman in the city.’ And 
then turned on her heel and walked, or, I should say, 
waddled, directly away from me. What do you say to 
that, for a piece of Dutch impudence?” 

Why, how funny ! She is so mild and good natured 
whenever she comes here, that I am astonished at what 
you say. If I were you, I should see the doctor, her father, 
and tell him of it.” 

“ I intend to, my dear. I shall not let it pass in silence, 
I can assure you.” 

“ Father thinks she is one of the prettiest and bright- 
est girls in the city. I think all the men rather like her. 
Hush, here is Theophilus; put your dress down !” 

That gentleman came in, smiling and bowing ; he was 
quite delighted to see Mrs. Bovine, who winked at him in 
quite a familiar manner ; and as for Miss Leslie, he kissed 
the tips of her fingers with the gallantry of a knight of 
the sixteenth century. 

“Just in time for the good things,” said Theophilus, 
helping himself to a glass of wine and a biscuit. “We 
have had a very delightful morning ; one of the largest 
prayer-meetings, I think, we have ever had. There was 
Dimity, the wealthy dry-goods merchant, and Bond, the 
proud banker. It certainly is the first time I ever saw 
Dimity in church ; but it is said the South has confiscated 
his cotton-mills, and appropriated his property, while you 
are aware that trade is so dull here that he has discharged 
more than one-half of his clerks. There is nothing, after 
all, like adversity for turning a man’s attention towards 


THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 


201 


his neglected Creator ; we have had, in the last few days, 
more conversions than in the last ten years.” 

Isn’t that singular, now?” said Miss Leslie. 

‘^Just the least drop of wine,” said Mrs. Bovine. 

There — that is plenty ; thank you. Oh, I have not the 
slightest doubt in my mind that wars, fevers, epidemics, 
and all those kind of things are sent down simply as a 
punishment for peoples’ wickedness.” And she closed 
her eyes with a severely-virtuous look. 

‘‘What is the news from the war?” asked Miss Leslie. 

“ Nothing, except we are getting very badly beaten. 
You see, when you come to think of it, what right have 
we to say to the Southern people, you shall not depart 

from the Union, or ” He paused at catching a 

glance from Miss Leslie, directed towards her companion. 
“But, of course, with these things I have nothing to do. 
What were you talking about when I came in?” 

“ Miss Knappe. You used to admire her very much.” 

“ Oh, she certainly is very pretty.” And the slightest 
possible color glowed for a moment in the cheeks of Mr. 
Maple. “ But her education has been woefully neglected. 

I don’t think that she ever reads the Bible.” 

“ I think her moral education has also been sadly neg- 
lected,” said Mrs. Bovine, severely. 

“Indeed ?” said Mr. Maple, opening his shallow black 
eyes to the utmost. “I never heard anything — against — 
the reputation — of Miss Knappe.” 

“ Of course,” throwing up her head, “ I speak merely 
of the estimate she places upon certain people’s ac- 
tions, and the rude, violent way^she has of speaking to 
people.” 

“Well, Portia, I would not repeat that; if she don’t 
like you, what do you care ? you know the doctor himself 
is one of the oddest of men. Isn’t he, Theophilus?” 

i8 


202 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“Odd? Tremendously so. You heard what he said 
over the grave of his friend Redwood ?” 

“ No,” said both ladies at once ; “do tell us about it.” 

“ Oh, that was very characteristic of the doctor. You 
are aware that Redwood’s body was carried to the house 
of Blake, a cousin of his, and from there the funeral took 
place. Now, Blake is a hard-shell Baptist, and he, con- 
sequently, had old Dipper to perform the funeral rites. 
Dipper is an inflexible, severe old man ; and he hinted, in 
the course of his remarks, that Redwood’s death was a 
punishment for his previous denial of religion. The doc- 
tor was present and heard it. What the Reverend Mr. 
Dipper really said, I never heard, but simply that, what- 
ever it was, it deeply offended our friend. Dr. Knappe. 
When the funeral party reached the cemetery, and they 
had lowered the body into the grave, here is what took 
place, as narrated by an eye-witness and published in the 
‘Evening News.’ Now, listen — it is very rich.” He 
took from his pocket-book a newspaper-slip, and read as 
follows : 

“The body had been lowered into the grave, and the 
friends, after taking a parting glance, were turning to 
leave the resting-place of the gifted but unfortunate man, 
when, suddenly, his intimate friend. Dr. K., took off his 
hat and addressed them : ‘ One word, my friends, before 
leaving. To speak falsely of the dead is more hurtful 
than to slander the living. Something has been said of 
this man who lies here at my feet which, however well 
meant, and spoken by a high person, is, nevertheless,, 
untrue, and I must not let it pass in silence. To say he 
was a scoffer and denied God, is not true. Punished he 
was, but whether for his own sins,* or those of others, what 
mortal can tell ? I knew him, and I say that he loved truth, 
and always spoke it; he was generous, learned, and sim- 


THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 


203 


pie as a child, for anybody could dupe him. He loved 
everything in nature, from the green leaf with the bug 
upon it, to the mountain with its perpetual cap of snow, 
and his heart was full of reverence. It is true, he seldom 
went to church. “Why,” he would say, “shall I dress my- 
self in fine clothes, and upon a certain day and certain 
hour go to a public building and say, ‘ Look at me, — I am 
a religious man ; observe me now, I am going to pray to 
God,’ when, in my own room, and with nothing to dis- 
tract my thoughts, I can open my heart to the great 
Creator?” If that is to deny God, then he denied it. 
But some one will say, “ Where was his love of truth, when 
he cheated his friend of his wife and seduced a good 
woman?” My friends, I know more of that story than 
any person here, and I cannot say that he cheated his 
friend or anybody; and God, who knows the whole, 
will blame him less than I do. What the church requires 
of man I do not know, — that is something too learned, 
too complicated, for a man of my limited knowledge. 
But what God requires everybody knows, without learning 
and without study. And I say, reverently and earnestly, 
that this man at our feet was one whom it was an honor to 
know and a pleasure to love. Amen.’” 

“ Did you ever !” said Mrs. Bovine. “ I am glad I was 
not there, for I should have shrieked with laughter.” 

“The impudence of the thing, and a clergyman 
present !” echoed Miss Leslie. “ And here comes father ; 
I wonder what brings him home so soon?” 

And sure enough the figure of that gentleman, dis- 
mounting from his white horse, appeared through the 
windows. Mr. Maple with an embarrassed air withdrew, 
whispering a few words to Miss Leslie as she saw him to 
the door. 

“You see,” she explained, in a whisper, “Portia, 


204 


THE LOST MODEL. 


although we are engaged, Theophilus has not yet had an 
opportunity of speaking to father about it. You know 
how cross he is, and what a disagreeable way he has of 
treating everybody as children. Of course, Theophilus 
being a clergyman, expects to be treated like a gentleman, 
and father, you know, treats everybody like a child. If 
he likes you, he speaks to you ; if he don’t, he just glares 
at you.” 

** That is very true,” said Portia, sympathizingly. 

But, George, we expect George will be here every 
day, and he, you know, can just turn father around his 
finger, and he will be able to fix it for us. ” 

Here the window was suddenly elevated, and the ami- 
able voice of Mr. Leslie thundered into the room. 

“How many times must I tell you to keep your traps 
out of my garden?” And he flung a delicate parasol into 
the room, and closed the window with a bang. 

“You see, Portia,” said her friend, apologetically, 
“he suffers a good deal lately from dyspepsia. He will 
eat cold lobster, and he knows it nearly kills him.” 

“Oh, make him lobster salads by all means,” said 
Portia, in a whisper; “ the richer the better, and encour- 
age him to eat ’em. I could make him one that would 
occupy the balance of his life in digesting.” And she left 
the house, holding her skirts tolerably high and her nose 
still higher. 


ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 


205 


CHAPTER II. 

ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 

The city had a very beautiful cemetery, more like a 
park than a burial-ground. By a singular freak of fortune, 
an old landscape-gardener had come all the way from 
Germany to seek his fortune in Boshville, and by a still 
stranger freak had got charge of the grounds in question. 
We say, by a strange freak of fortune, for here as else- 
where the people ruled, and as the majority of the people 
were ignorant, selfish, and perverse, it was the custom to 
select the worst man as mayor, and the bankrupt as 
treasurer ; in short, the round pegs were at every election 
enthusiastically placed in the square holes, and the square 
pegs, with equal enthusiasm, were slapped into the round 
holes. But even Boshville had its exception, and the 
cemetery man was that one. It took a great deal of 
bitter discussion, however, before this man of sense per- 
suaded them that a cemetery should be a beautiful, and 
not a repulsive place, and that as the dead were not wild 
beasts now, whatever they might have been alive, it was 
not necessary to cage them in like tigers and lions, with 
massive and heavy rows of iron railings. 

Step by step he drove them from their tasteless preju- 
dices, and worked upon the landscape, giving it graceful 
curves, and breaking the long lines with beautiful trees. 
And to-day, when strangers come to Boshville, they take 
them to the cemetery and say, “ Look well at it; there 
is nothing like it on this broad continent of ours!” 
iS'^ 


2o6 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Every citizen purchased a lot in it except the Catholics, 
and they never even squinted at it, because the bishop 
had never sprinkled it with water, although God had 
done so a good many times ; and there was quite a 
scramble for the best places. Our friend Dr. Knappe had 
a lot there, and thanks to his friend the superintendent 
he had one of the best, close to the lake and its isle of 
artificial beauty. Besides evergreens, a large willow 
stood in the centre, and tried to drape it, and hide the 
knolls upon it, with its pendent boughs and grass-like 
leaves. There were four graves already upon this lot, 
and yet none of them contained kith or kin to the doctor. 
The centre grave, at the foot of the giant willow, — a place 
he had previously selected for himself, — was occupied by 
a fellow-countryman, who, when young, had fought in 
Blucher’s army, and had lost a leg in sight of that dis- 
tinguished general, of which fact he was very proud. 
The octagenarian soldier, the last few years of his life, 
was supported by the doctor; and when the poor, broken- 
down soldier died, like a generous host, who had given 
his guest the best seat at his table in life, so the doctor 
gave his friend the best place in his burial-lot. In the 
corner were two other graves which the doctor said were 
‘‘anonymous.” 

A girl of nineteen in one, and a babe of a month old 
in the other, — mother and child. The doctor had found 
the girl in the hospital, half starved and dangerously 
sick; she had crawled there one night, from no one 
knew where. Her beautiful face had specially attracted 
him, he had brought Renata to see her, and he laid out 
all his skill and kindness upon her. But she died, leav- 
ing the fragile baby behind, and he had never heard the 
sound of her voice, or learnt her name. They tell a funny 
story still in Boshville about that^ baby and the doctor. 


ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 


207 


How, failing to find a nurse, a wet-nurse, he bought a 
cow so as to have pure milk for the child, and what soft 
sponges he purchased to wash daily the red body, and 
how he made Renata study up a famous book upon chil- 
dren, and how in the midst of all his preparation the life 
of the little ‘‘anonymous” flickered and went out. “It 
did really seem as though the devil had broken loose, 
and was doing me all the harm he possibly could,” the 
doctor would say, when telling the story. 

The last mound in the lot was the freshest, and bore 
a marble crucifix upon it, with the ominous words : “ Al- 
bert Redwood: born 18 — , killed 18 — ” 

Strange to say, the doctor’s wife was not buried upon 
this lot, for he had been so busy in burying his indigent 
friends, that he had never had the time or money to 
remove the remains of his wife from the old church-yard 
in the city, to this cemetery; although that was one of 
things which every spring he promised Renata he would 
certainly do, and which every fall saw him neglect. 

By the side of Redwood’s grave on this sunny morning 
stood Renata, with a sprig of ivy in her hand, which she 
gave to the stooping superintendent, who was busy plant- 
ing and arranging the mould. 

Renata wore no black for her friend, but her cheeks 
were paler than usual, and if there were no tears in her 
eyes, the voice trembled, as she spoke, with emotion. 

“ No, no, my child, this is no trouble for me, it is just 
in my line. ' Redwood and I have spent many a pleasant 
hour in discussing one matter and another, and if I 
cannot plant a flower on his grave now and then, I must 
be a cold-blooded fish.” 

“Papa said you grumbled at the stone crucifix, and 
thought it would spoil the appearance of the lot ; but 
beauty is one thing, and love another.” \ 


2o8 


THE LOST MODEL. 


^‘The doctor,” said the superintendent, laughing, 
understands sometimes more than he hears. I say that, 
in general, a tree is handsomer than the usual slab of 
marble or stone with which people decorate their graves. 
Now look over yonder, and you will see what I mean. 
See the beautiful group of evergreens on the side hill, and 
right beyond it see what a mass of ugly stones : it looks 
like a stone-cutter’s yard \ there is neither order nor 
beauty, but simply a display of what money can buy.” 

What trouble you must have had in making the people 
give up such a favorite idea as an iron railing around a 
grave ! ” 

Not long ago, I had a bitter fight with some of the 
directors because they had given permission to the fellow 
who had invented some improvement of the sewing- 
machine that a gigantic model in stone should be placed 
on his lot, as a monitor to posterity of the importance 
of the remains which rested there. I made up my mind 
that no such frightful advertisement should be stuck up 
on these grounds while I had charge of them, and I 
finally persuaded them to withdraw the permission. My 
refusal so offended the fellow that he refuses to die, 
much less to be buried in a place where they won’t let 
him carry on his business after death.” 

“Poor Redwood used to say that there were two things 
which tended to degrade us : one was shatn Christianity 
and the other machinery ; and he used to consider every 
inventor of a machine as an enemy to mankind. Poor 
Redwood ! do you know, I never saw him from the day 
you met us at Ferris’s. When he was killed they carried 
his body to Blake’s, from there the funeral took place, and 
when they brought him here I never saw him, although I 
longed to see his face. You cannot tell how much we. 
miss him. Papa has no one now to read his letters to. 


. ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 


209 

and to consult about his pictures j and who is there now 
to give me advice?” 

‘‘It was a terrible affair,” and the superintendent 
rubbed his nose in perplexity. “ I see my frau standing 
at the door yonder; won’t you stay with us to dinner? 
and in the afternoon I will take you home in my buggy.” 

“No, thank you. Parthee is here somewhere,” and 
she looked hurriedly among the tombstones for her 
escort. 

They discovered him down on his knees before an old 
slab, rubbing, with his fingers, the dirt off the inscrip- 
tion. 

“Well, good-by, my child; I see a funeral procession 
coming in, and unless I watch the drivers of the carriages 
they will drive over my grass-plat, and destroy my flower- 
beds out of pure devilment. A full-blooded hackman is 
impervious to the sense of beauty. As the Greek repre- 
sents the highest conception of beauty, so your Jehu is 
the lowest ! Tell the doctor to come out ; I have some- 
thing interesting to show him. And, Renata, when you 
go home, take the omnibus ; the roads are full of soldiers. 
Adieu.” 

He paused a moment and watched the girl join her 
companion, muttering to himself, “She is as beautiful as 
a painting;” then he shot in the direction of the proces- 
sion, and bawled to one Jehu to stop galloping, as he was 
not on a race-course. 

“ What are you rubbing that tombstone for, Parthee?” 

“Read what it says.” 

“ ‘ Here lies Charles John Racket, who’ — the rest is 
decayed, except the date. Now in German we say, 
‘ Hier Ruht,’ that means, here rests, which to me sounds 
ynore beautiful ; for rest is the highest desire of man.” 

He looked up astonished, and asked, “Where are the 


210 


THE LOST MODEL, 


men who think rest is the highest desire of life? There 
are none in Boshville.” 

‘‘ Yes, you dull boy. There is father, and — and, well, 
you and 1. There must be lots of other people who also 
desire rest, only I don’t know them.” 

He shook his head. *‘That is another of Renata’s 
illusions.” 

‘‘ Oh,” said the girl, smiling, ‘‘ you find everything an 
illusion ; I only hope .that I shall never find you one. 
Come, let us go home across the hills yonder, where the 
Indian encampment is. I tell you, Parthee, I do not like 
stories which end badly, in which the dragon kills the 
beautiful prince, and the princess dies for love. No, let 
us be like the flowers, and open when the sun comes, and 
always be glad.” 

To-day the sun is out, the sky is clear, the wind is 
gone, and Renata and her papa are smiling ; to-morrow 
the storm comes, or there is a cloud before the sun, and 
then neither Renata nor her papa are glad. ’ ’ 

Renata laughed. ” That is one of your illusions, 
Parthee. There is no girl in Boshville so happy as I, at 
heart; there it is always quiet.” 

We will see about that. Where is Caspar?” 

‘‘ Ach ! Poor Caspar, he is in Virginia, and I am afraid 
he is sick, for he has not written for a month.” 

What does Burgmiller say now in his letters?” 

‘^Oh, don’t speak to me of Burgmiller. Papa worries 
the life out of me to write those dreadful letters, when I 
have scarcely time to write to Caspar.” 

And the colonel — what is his name — Denham — yes, 
but then Renata finds time to write to the colonel.” 

She looked at him, vexed and astonished. 

‘^Is your heart quiet now, Renata?” he inquired 
gravely. 


ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 


2II 


“It is always quiet, except when you trouble it. You 
must never tease any one, Par thee ; it looks as though you 
felt yourself superior. But come, you know we promised 
to be home by dinner-time. Let us cross the hill yonder, 
and then you can take me to the Indians* encampment, 
for the paper says it is a tribe with which you and Mr. 
Leslie are quite intimate.” 

“ I will introduce you to the chief, * Little Thunder;* 
he and I have hunted together a good many times.** 

“Do you know, Parthee, I have often thought about 
you and the queer story you tell about the race of beings 
which left you here a thousand years ago ; and I don*t 
believe a word of it. Now I’ll tell you your past fortune, 
whatever your future may be. You were a white boy, 
which this very tribe, or some other one, has stolen; only 
it was so long ago, and you were so little, that you have 
forgotten it.” 

“Well,” he answered, “now let me tell you a future 
story. You don’t believe the past one, perhaps you will 
the future. You see my face now, smooth, no wrinkles, 
eh ! young face like Renata?” 

She laughed, and said “Yes.” 

“ When you are an old woman, and there are lines all 
over your face, I will come to you, and you will see me 
then as I am now. What will Renata say?” 

“Say? Why, I will say it is all an illusion, as you 
now say everything is.” 

They walked side by side in silence for a few minutes, 
when suddenly the girl stopped, and said, — 

“You are not going away?” 

“Yes; you know I am going to seek Leslie’s son 
George.” 

“Will you come back?” 

He nodded. 


212 


THE LOST MODEL. 


^^Parthee, I am a true-hearted girl, and tell you the 
truth. You promised me you would not go from here 
without my leave, and that you would have nothing to do 
with this terrible war. INow, if you go, you must give me 
your dearest word that you will come back soon.” And 
she emphasized the last word very energetically. 

He looked down a moment in the troubled face, and 
then said, slowly, — 

Fighting shadows again, Renata. How many times 
must I say I will come back; I will come back? Yes, 
and when I leave for the last time, you shall go, too.” 

By this time they reached a little brook which ran at 
the foot of the hill, and over whose running waters a 
couple of trees had been thrown for foot-passengers. He 
caught Renata up with one arm, and almost ran across 
the narrow bridge, and placed her tenderly down on the 
other side. 

I wonder what Miss Leslie would say if she saw you 
do that?” 

She is so busy chasing that big clergyman, that she 
forgets the rest of the world.” 

Like a couple of thoughtless school-children, they 
sauntered through the fields,. plucking the leaves as they 
passed, and occasionally pausing to watch the manoeu- 
vring of the birds among the branches of the giant trees. 
When they reached the open plain where the Indians 
were encamped, Renata's courage fled at the sight of the 
dusky red-skins, and it needed a good deal of coaxing 
before she would approach the ugly-looking tents made 
from buffalo hides, and the group of bandy-legged squaws 
who squatted on the ground beneath their blue cloth 
blankets, and the big-limbed Indians who reclined upon 
the ground, or stood in a circle around one of the chief 


warriors. 


ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 


213 


I am dreadfully afraid, Parthee, — see how fierce they 
look at us, — but, if you know them, why they will not 
do us any harm.” And for better security, she took 
hold of his arm with both hands. 

The approach of these two caused considerable com- 
motion in the camp. The squaws gaped at them for a 
moment in astonishment, then, without rising, chattered 
away like a lot of geese. 

The warrior, with his face painted red on one side 
and blue on the other, with a long feather drooping 
from his scalp, and wearing a dress of buckskin, or- 
namented with shells, left the group, and came quickly 
towards Parthee, to whorh he spoke in a harsh, gut- 
tural tongue. The others followed his example, and 
Renata found herself in the centre of a crowd of half- 
clad savages, the smell of whose dress and bodies was 
almost insupportable. 

One of them raised his finger and touched the red 
ribbon upon her neck, and almost at the same moment 
Parthee put the end of a withe he held in his hand into 
the fellow’s ear, which made him step back in astonish- 
ment, while the rest grinned at his movement, and the 
painted warrior nodded in satisfaction. 

Renata felt in her pocket for a coin, and, upon finding 
one, held it out to the discomfited brave, who took it 
rapidly and put it in his mouth. The movement, how- 
ever, caught the eye of the chief, who, holding out his 
hand, made the fellow spitdt out, which caused the rest 
to grunt with satisfaction. 

‘^This is ‘ Little Thunder,’ ” said Parthee. ‘‘Don’t 
be afraid ; I will show you his wife presently.” 

As he spoke, a white cloud of smoke shot from the 
summit of one of the neighboring hills, followed by the 
loud report of a cannon, which shook the air over their 

19 


214 


THE LOST MODEL. 


heads, and was echoed back by rolling thunder from the 
distance. 

The noise excited the Indians, and, scattering, they 
hurried up towards the fort from which the shot was fired. 
Even Little Thunder rolled his eyes at the noise, and 
shook himself, and his nostrils dilated with excitement. 

‘‘That is the place where they fortified the hill, for the 
protection of the city,” said Renata, following with her 
eyes the movements of the Indians, who were running 
towards it. “If the rebels only come in that direction, 
they will all be killed with those big cannons. Ask the 
chief what he thinks of those big guns.” 

“ He is too much afraid of them to go near enough to 
inspect them,” said Parthee. 

The Indian brought his eyes slowly around from the 
fort to his guests, and he spoke deliberately, and, as 
Renata thought, in anger, to her companion. Occasion- 
ally he would pause in his speech, and point to the city 
beyond them, or to his tent, and once to a deep scar 
below his shoulder bone, and his eyes stared steadily and 
searchingly upon the face of Parthee. And when the 
latter answered, it was with a different tone and accent 
than she was accustomed to hear in the well-remembered 
voice, and a feeling of dread crept over the girl, that 
they would take him away with them, and the dearest 
dream of her life be dispelled in grief. 

“ Come,” said the girl pettishly, “ show me his squaw, 
then we must go ; you forget that I cannot understand a 
word you say, and I want to leave before those Indians 
come back.” 

The chief followed them to the centre tent, and then 
turned upon his heel and left them. Sitting in the 
middle of the inclosure, upon the ground, and rocking 
herself backwards and forwards as though in pain, sat an 


ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 


215 


Ugly dark woman dressed in blue flannel, ornamented 
with shells and beads ; she held to her forehead a few 
leaves, and down the side of her face slowly trickled a 
stream of blood. 

‘‘See, Parthee, the poor woman is all over blood. 
Why, who has done that?” 

At his request, the squaw took away her hand and 
showed a cut upon the side of her head, which was bleed- 
ing profusely. While Parthee went out in search of some 
more leaves, Renata, forgetting her fear, and overcoming 
her repugnance to the nauseating effluvia which filled 
the tent, went close to the squaw, and with her fingers 
pushed aside the hair from the edge of the wound, and 
dipping her handkerchief in a little stream of water out- 
side the tent, she washed away the blood, and held it to 
the poor creature’s head. Slowly and deliberately, Par- 
thee, when he returned, separated the leaves, and then 
placed them over the cut, and tied up her head tightly 
in the handkerchief, to all of which the squaw submitted 
silently, and without a murmur. Renata saw, for the 
first time, in the back part of the tent an older and an 
uglier squaw still, who, after watching Parthee very 
closely, spoke to him repeatedly, and whom he answered 
more in gestures than in speech. 

“ Who did that cruel thing?” asked Renata, when they 
emerged from the tent into daylight. 

“ Little Thunder broke her head because she would not 
go and get fire-water for him. But, after all, the wounds 
on the outside are not so bad as those on the inside of the 
head, are they, Renata?” 

“He is a cruel wretch !” And she cast an indignant 
glance at the Indian who had been a dignified, but passive 
witness of the scene ; and who followed by the side of 
Parthee, without speaking. 


2i6 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“ Ach ! what will he with us?” asked Renata, in some 
alarm, as the chief continued to stalk by the side of 
her companion. “ Stay a moment and hear what he 
wants, and I will wait for you on the pike.” And the 
girl ran up the bank to the main road, and then 
turned and watched them. Renata sighed as she looked 
at the slender figure which gesticulated to the Indian. 
Rapidly through her memory passed the period of her 
acquaintance with this waif of an unknown race. The sit- 
tings at Ferris’s, the sculptor’s, the promenades and romp- 
ings upon the hills, the evenings at the doctor’s, when he 
listened solemnly to the quartettes and smiled at the 
doctor’s enthusiasm, and th© long saunterings through the 
city, when arm-in-arm they wandered, like the children 
in the wood, from store to store in search of novelty. 
How well she knew the voice and step, the meaning of 
his gestures, and felt the warmth of his glance ! Other 
men embarrassed her ; they were either too grand in their 
manners and language, or too small in their thoughts and 
trivial in their desires, too rich and ostentatious, too poor, 
too mean; some were large, others small to insignifi- 
cance, — in fact, the Boshville beaux were thoroughly 
foreign to her nature and sympathy. But with this man 
came a new revelation ; every sense awoke in his presence 
like the blind, dumb earth at the touch of the sun. 

Just when she had begun to understand and enjoy this 
drama of life, there comes an unknown fear over her that 
it will all pass away like a dream. First comes a war that 
rages over the land with the cruelty of a fire, and then 
the sudden death of Redwood ; and before her senses have 
recovered from the shock of this catastrophe, comes the 
hint that this being who holds, as it were, her life in his 
hand, may pass away as suddenly as he came. 

When Parthee joined her, she scarcely saw him for the 


ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 


217 


tears in her eyes ; and she only half heard his laconic 
account of his former acquaintance with Little Thunder, 
on the other side of the Rocky Mountains, and how the 
chief wanted him to go as an interpreter to Washington, 
and explain to the White Father that they must have more 
presents, or they would kill the white men who came upon 
their hunting-grounds. But the natural joyousness of her 
nature soon prevailed, and her face beamed with pleasure 
as she listened to his running commentary on men and 
things. 

As they entered the city, they saw Miss Leslie and her 
betrothed leaving it, the former veiled so as to see but not 
to be seen. 

To an inquiry from Renata if he did not think her 
very pretty, he answered, ‘‘No ; I see her as she is. And 
so did her father the other day. He told her, ‘ You are 
twenty-six years old, and yet to my certain knowledge, 
during all that time, your mind and soul has had but one 
theme : What shall I put in my mouth, what shall I wear 
on my head and wrap around my body, and where shall I 
go to see some fun, and who will come to amuse me ? 
and the next step is, who shall I take for my husband ? 
And so the world is simply your kitchen.’ ” 

“And yet, is there much difference between them? 
For, if I remember rightly, he told papa once that as he 
could only eat a certain number of dinners in this world, 
he had made up his mind to have them all good. Papa 
is back: I can see his buggy at the door. You won’t 
come in? Well, good-by! remember to-morrow night 
we have company, and be sure to come.” 

“Oh, here you are!” said the doctor, as Renata, 
looking pale and fatigued, passed into his office. “My 
child, there is no necessity of w^earing your life out in 
walking backwards and forwards to that cemetery.” 

19* 


2i8 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Renata made no answer, but took off her hat and shawl, 
and, after kissing him, she looked him full in the face and 
said, You promised to tell me why Leonard killed our 
friend, and you have never done so ; tell me now.” 

The question fairly stunned the doctor, and, after look- 
ing vacantly at her for a moment, he told her not to 
bother him, and then hurried out upon some pretext or 
another. 


CHAPTER III. 

A CITY WITH ARTISTS AND TWO ART CRITICS. 

That evening our friend the doctor was a delighted 
man. In his little parlor, where every inch of the wall 
was covered with an artistic sketch or frameless old 
painting, and where a huge box containing portfolios, 
filled with etchings and engravings, was the principal 
article of furniture, the doctor stood in the centre of a 
group of gentlemen, his face all aglow with pleasure, his 
head thrown back, and his tongue pronouncing a eulogy 
upon art. He had already, as usual with him when once 
fairly started on his favorite theme, worked the bow of his 
cravat under his left ear, and had rubbed his hair up until 
it stood upright over his forehead, like a lot of broom-corn. 
This was his only real pleasure. He seldom went to any 
amusements, except occasionally to the little German 
theatre, and this was more to please his daughter than 
himself; and, with the exception of a quartette or trio at 
his house, public or private amusements never occupied 
much of the doctor’s time. But to show his pictures 
to his friends and acquaintances, to read them the 


A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 


219 


letters of Burgmiller, to give the history of every sheet, 
and to dilate on their undying value to the human race, 
was a constant fountain of delight. It was appropriate in 
all seasons and at all times. Meet him at twelve o’clock 
at night, returning, jaded, from some, patient, who had 
worn out his patience as well as his strength, stop him and 
ask him if Burgmiller is painting anything new, and he 
will take you home to his little parlor, light up the gas, 
get out a huge box of letters, every one of which has eighty 
or ninety pages, and he will read and comment upon 
them until you fall dead with fatigue under the table. 

Three of his guests this evening were painters, the lead- 
ing artists in Boshville. Washington Blake was a land- 
scape painter, Howard Waldemar a genre painter, and 
Gottlieb, a German, was the best portrait painter in the 
West. 

Blake was a stalwart, long-haired individual, who had 
gained some celebrity from the likeness he bore to the 
portraits of Albrecht Diirer. Redwood, who knew him 
very well, used to say, ‘‘The friend who first discovered 
Blake’s likeness to Diirer, and told him of it, did him a 
mortal wrong ; he was satisfied with looking like Diirer, 
without trying to paint like him. His personal vanity 
killed his merit, or talent, as a cabbage planted near a 
vine will kill the grapes.” 

The doctor was not so harsh in his judgment, and in- 
sisted that he could paint with excellent fidelity a dog, or 
other animal of the so-called lower creation. The other 
two artists shall speak for themselves, as a novelist, it is 
said, ought to let the characters describe themselves, 
except when their especial merits lie outside and not 
inside of their heads, in which case, of course, some out- 
lines must be given. 

A part of the present excitement of the doctor, however, 


220 


THE LOST MODEL. 


arose from the fact that two of his guests were the critics 
of art and music par excellence ; that is to say, they were 
the official expounders of the merits of every distinguished 
picture and every musical performance in Boshville. 

Abbot published his criticisms in the Wide Awake,” 
and Bishop laid himself out in the Steel,” both of 
them journals of high literary, musical, and critical 
ability. Of course the good citizens of Boshville, being 
absorbed in the pork business, in the manufacture of 
sewing-machines, sale of dry goods, and the ordinary 
occupations of trade, had no time to devote to any- 
thing so unremunerative as art or music; and yet as it 
was the fashion, imported, as usual, from Europe, for 
the wealthy to hang up gold frames on their walls, and 
to accompany their daughters to the opera on certain 
fashionable occasions, why, there became an urgent 
necessity to have some one to say to them, ^‘M’lle 
Cadenza is a good singer, go and hear her ; and Brown has 
got a fine landscape, go and admire it.” Consequently 
when Snob and Truckle, in the whisky business, returned 
from their summer trip to Europe, bringing with them 
huge boxes filled with plaster casts, and a great number 
of modern pictures, and they were showing their treasures 
to their friends, the first inquiry was, Well, what do 
Abbot and Bishop say?” 

When the answer was, “ They consider my Turner a 
pearl of priceless worth,” the eager cry came in response, 

Oh, let us look at it again, and how much will you take 
for it? What a stunning frame it has, eh ?” 

So, what a well-drilled group of claqueurs was to a French 
theatre, the above critics were to the wealthy citizens of 
Boshville. Abbot had been formerly a clerk or salesman 
in a picture-dealer’s store in New York, where he had 
learnt all the slang terms peculiar to artists, and, conse- 


A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 


221 


quently, he was somewhat the more fluent of the two ; he 
also insisted that the greatest school of modern art was in 
France, and he would utter the names of Rousseau, Cou- 
teau, Gudin, Lambinet, Frere, and Meissonier with a 
rapidity and wonderful accent that would make your head 
swim. Bishop, who, in some respects, was the rival of 
Abbot, had derived his knowledge and taste for art from 
a very careful and elaborate study of Ruskin’s Modern 
Painters, and an English translation of a work upon German 
artists, and, consequently, while his friend sang the glories 
of Ary Scheffer, he went down on his knees before Tur- 
ner. When the doctor brought out a fine engraving of 
the Mona Lisa of Da Vinci, Abbot cried, — 

“By Jove, how that reminds you of Frere!” While 
Bishop, after a painful contemplation of five minutes in 
silence, said, emphatically, — 

“ That picture is either by a pupil of Millais or Hunt.” 
There was one thing, however, they had in common, 
and that was ignorance. Neither had ever seen an original 
Raphael or Michael Angelo ; and if they had, they could 
no more have understood the merits of them than they 
could read at sight the cuneiform inscriptions on the As- 
syrian marbles. Of this, however, the good doctor was 
not aware. It is true that not long ago he received a 
copy of the “ Steel,” in which was an article, six columns 
long, upon a fountain, written by Bishop, and which the 
good doctor sat down to read, but never could get farthei; 
than the fourth sentence, which said that the Laocoon 
was a degenerate work of art. “ Could he not praise the 
fountain without insisting that Greek art was a child’s 
toy beside it? And how he can write six long, solid 
columns, close print, with Latin quotations, about some- 
thing you never can find out what, is a mystery to me 1” 
was the doctor’s soliloquy at the time he sat looking at the 


222 


THE LOST MODEL. 


article in question. But, as the doctor was in the habit of 
accusing his own understanding rather than other persons* 
ability, he acted on this occasion as though he really was 
showing his collection to two people who knew more about 
them than he did. 

‘‘There,” said he, placing before them a fine copy of 
the Reading Magdalene of Correggio, by Longhi, “ what 
do you say to that ?’ ’ 

“Allegri,” said Abbot, reading the name on the bot- 
tom; “nice face, pensive, carefully done; reminds you 
of Scheffer.” 

“Yes,” groaned Bishop, “or one of Millais* Sisters of 
Charity.** 

“Oh, what bad drawing!** blundered in the Boshville 
Diirer. “ She is leaning on her elbow, and yet the part 
that rests on the ground has no dent in it. I tell you, 
those old fellows knew nothing about drawing or per- 
spective. * * 

“Oh, I don*t see any bad drawing,** said the doctor, 
looking at it with admiration. 

“ Of conr^Q you don’t ; if she had a blister behind her 
ears, you would, perhaps, find it out.” And a loud laugh 
went round the room. 

“ Mit dem old bainters,” said Gottlieb, “ideas is de 
ting ; you must not yudge ’em as do it was a bainting of 
a tog.” 

“ Translate as you go, old fellow,” said Blake. 

“You are right, Gottlieb,” said the doctor. And he 
took away the engraving and placed an etching of Marc 
Antonio before them. 

“ Queer-looking thing 1” said Blake. 

“So dark and scratchy I” echoed Waldemar. 

“That is a mighty nice, artistic thing,” said Abbot, 
who wished to encourage the doctor. 


A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 


223 

“Whistler does that kind of thing much better,” said 
Bishop, softo voce^ to his neighbor. 

“ Das is yust so good as one of Raphael’s,” said Gott- 
lieb, enthusiastically. 

“You are right, Gottlieb.” And the doctor placed 
before them a landscape of Claude, engraved by Woolett. 

“A very pretty piece of work; nice trees — general 
effect artistic,” said Abbot. 

“ Thoughtfully done — good lines — broad in treatment, 
and picturesque,” said Bishop. 

The two painters had a violent dispute whether the trees 
on the right were palms or pines. 

“Now, doctor,” said Blake, “show us something 
modern. You go crazy all the time over what you are 
pleased to call old masters, who, no doubt, were very well 
in their way and day, but nothing to compare with the 
artists of the nineteenth century.” And he shook out 
his long hair and looked down, majestically, upon the 
host. 

“ That’s so !” echoed Waldemar. “ No doubt Michael 
Angelo, Raphael, and Cherubini were masters in their 
time ; but they are long since out of date. And then, 
again, it is as Ruskin says, they are only preserved now 
because they are Roman Catholic pictures, — they illustrate 
certain things which the Catholics believe in ; that is their 
only merit.” 

“ Now, see there,” said Blake, pointing to the engraving 
of the “Last Supper,” on the wall. “Look at all those 
fellows, sitting all on one side of the table, like a lot of 
school-boys on a form ; see the table-cloth, with its marks 
of folding, as though on the table of a first-class hotel, — 
with glass tumblers, china plates, and things they never 
had in those days. Where is the truth to nature in that?” 

“You see that fellow with the butcher-knife,” said Wal- 


224 


THE LOST MODEL. 


demar, putting on his spectacles; “what had he got to 
carve, that he needed such a cheese-cutter as that ? And 
see that other one, with his hand up, like an inverted leg 
of mutton ! Now, doctor, where is the merit in that 
picture?” 

“See that other one, which they call ^Leda and the 
Swan,’ said Blake. And he pointed at it with his gold- 
headed cane. “What does a respectable, stout-looking, 
intelligent girl want to be grinning at a long-necked goose 
* for, eh?” 

The doctor, while this running commentary was going 
on, turned his face from one speaker to the other, open- 
ing and shutting his mouth, without getting a word 
out, for each new sentence required a dilferent answer ; 
and, finally, overwhelmed with the situation, he sat 
down, and gasped out, “ My God, if only Redwood was 
here ! ’ ’ 

“Redwood!” said Blake. “What an outrageous mur- 
der that was ! I hope they will hang that Leonard.” 

“ What good will that do me?” sighed the doctor. And 
he held up his finger, to stop them talking about Red- 
wood, as his daughter Renata and Parthee entered. What- 
ever difference of opinion the company held as to the 
merits of the pictures, there was none as to Miss Renata; 
and that young lady blushed beneath the weight of the 
compliments; even Bishop forgot to think what Ruskin 
said, but smiled, and admired in silence. 

“ I was at Ferris’s the other day,” said Blake, “ and I 
saw that face of yours cut in marble. Miss Knappe. I 
recognized it instantly.” 

“ Oh, mercy, it is much handsomer than I am ! Ask 
the doctor if it isn’t.” 

“Of course it is, my child; he has idealized it into a 
classic antique face.” 


A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 


225 

What !” said Abbot, you mean to say that man 
can make a handsomer face than God can ?’ ’ 

‘‘In the sense I mean, of course he can,” answered 
the doctor. 

Here followed a very violent discussion, in which Blake, 
Waldemar, Gottlieb, and the critics joined, where all 
spoke at once, except the doctor, who only got a word in 
about once in five minutes. Each man was so anxious to 
deliver his own view of the question, that he shrieked it 
out without waiting for the other one to hear him. 

Renata, who tried to catch the thread of the dispute, 
could only hear such fragmentary sentences as the fol- 
lowing : 

“Look at Frdre, for instance — ” “When I painted 
my picture of The Lost Dog — ” “‘Truth to nature,’ 
as Ruskin says, ‘ is the sole aim and end of — ’ ” “ Ach, 

Gott, das ist Faselei — ” “ Now take Burgmiller, and he 

is the acknowledged prince of color — ” “Pshaw! he 
doesn’t know what color is — ” “ As I told Gipps, when 

he brought his fine collection from Florence the other 
day, ‘Gipps,’ says I, ‘be sure and prize — ’” “Oh, well, 
let the books alone, doctor ; that is all very well for you 
Dutchmen to know what the books say, but I’m an 
artist — ” “Take my word for it, get a picture of Tur- 
ner, and there you’ll find — ” “I give you my word of 
honor, if I would give that little etching of Marc Antonio 
for all the pictures Ruskin ever painted, may I go — ” 
“Missonier — ” “Bierstadt ” etc. 

In the meantime, Renata, seated near the stand upon 
which the doctor exhibited his pictures, was knitting and 
smiling at Parthee, who, seated in front of her, was 
very intently examining the engravings. As he placed one 
after the other upon the easel and closely scrutinized it in 
silence, Renata thought, in her heart. How handsome he 

20 


226 


THE LOST MODEL, 


is when he becomes absorbed in anything ! he has the 
innocence and intentness of a child. The talkers were 
scattered through the room, each one having selected his 
opponent, and, holding him by the button-hole, was 
trying to convince him by dint of a storm of words; 
the doctor skirmishing first with one and then with the 
other. 

Unheeding the noise, Parthee sat absorbed in his task, 
and except when the dark-blue eyes wandered over to 
Renata, he seemed utterly lost in contemplation. 

‘‘Parthee, you are like a little girl with her first doll. 
You are so wrapt up in those pictures that you scarcely 
know where you are. You told me the other day I 
fretted and worried over shadows, and yet you are quite 
carried away with them.” 

“Shadows? These ain’t shadows. This is the real 
thing. Move your chair around here, and see this one. 
See the little girl, with a bouquet and letter in her hand ; 
her little bare feet, the smile upon her mouth, and the 
long yellow hair.” 

“ Yes, that is very pretty. I like that much better than 
that Mater Dolorosa, who is always crying.” 

“Now, that is what I would call a sham grief. Now, 
see this one,” and with great care he placed upon the 
easel the School of Athens. 

“ I will show you the one I like best. There, at the 
left, that handsome face and figure ; they call it Georgias.” 

“You always pick out the young, smooth faces. But 
see, Renata, all these men and faces ; in all Boshville not 
five could be found so grand. Now, that man there with 
his finger raised : he could plan a pyramid, but he could 
not invent a sewing-machine. There is not one there 
which would care about a sewing-machine. It takes 
stump-legged, bald-headed little men to invent machines. 


A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 


227 


Now, this one, with his wrinkled eyebrows and his deep- 
set eyes : he never read a newspaper. ’ ’ 

*‘That Mr. Abbot over there,” said Renata, softly, 
has such a pretty little wife ; I wonder, now, if you would 
like her ; she’s very rich, and what she married this man 
for makes my head ache to think of, for I certainly never 
could find out. He hasn’t even got any sense.” 

There, Renata, there you are; just like you.” And 
Parthee placed upon the stand a portrait of Rubens’s 
daughter. 

‘‘ Let the pictures alone, and tell me something. I got 
a letter from Colonel Denham, and papa says I must 
answer it to-morrow. Tell me what to say. When I 
write to Caspar, I talk about all the neighbors and every- 
thing I do, and that is very easy ; and when I write to 
my school-friend Lizette, I write about you, and a letter 
is soon filled ; but when I write to Colonel Denham, I 
am puzzled. I must not speak about you ; it is foolish to 
talk about the neighbors, and it is more difficult than a 
school composition.” 

‘‘Oh, yes; you may speak about me. Tell him I am 
going away on what the Indians call a long hunt.” 

“ That would not be true. I don’t care what you say, 
Parthee, I have thought it all out, and here you must 
stay. Yes, indeed, you must,” and a queer, sad earnest- 
ness settled upon the girl’s eyes and mouth. 

“Renata,” said the doctor, “get up some wine.” 
He had cleared out his antagonists and reduced them to 
silence. As they only spoke from memory, and even the 
best memory will give out some time or another, the 
doctor, who relied more upon his imagination and reason 
than what he had read, finally prevailed. Bishop, in fact, 
for the last five minutes, had been hurriedly writing down, 
in a little pocket-book, certain phrases and terms which 


228 


THE LOST MODEL, 


some of the wordy combatants had used, and which 
he was storing away for future use. 

**Now I will show you what Nagler says about him; 
and stop, so that you may know what kind of a writer 
Nagler is, I will read you what Brockhaus says. N — a — g 
— here it is ” 

‘^Hold on, doctor. You are bad enough, but those 
Dutch books of yours are worse. I’ll take your word. 
Besides, here comes the wine and the prettiest Gany- 
mede in the country. But that is something you never 
found out, with all your love of beauty.” 

** What is that?” 

** Why, that your daughter’s face is much handsomer 
than any Madonna in your collection.” 

No, thank God, I never found that out ; and hope I 
never will. Now, gentlemen, take your glasses, and see 
if you like the wine.” 

‘‘I was just telling Abbot here about Pogley,” said 
Waldemar. *‘Do you remember him, doctor?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes. I attended his family for two years, and never 
got a cent for it. He could take the premium for meanness.” 

“ Well, sir, he is a genius in his way. He has a nice 
farm back in the State. A hundred or so of acres of 
well-timbered land. He sent for me last summer, and in 
the evening, as we were smoking upon the porch, he 
asked what I would paint a hundred portraits for, — to do 
them at my leisure, — boarding at his house, and painting 
them between whiles? ‘A hundred portraits, Pogley ! ’ 
says I ; 'why, there are not more than a hundred people 
in this county; are you going to get up a panorama of 
the inhabitants?’ 'Never you mind,’ says he; 'just 
answer ray question. I will supply you with the canvas 
and the subjects, as well as the room. Now, what will 
you paint a hundred of them for?’ 


A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 


229 


^ Life size ?’ 

‘Yes,’ said he, ‘and like life, too, — real portraits.’ 

“‘Tell me what you want them for, so that I may 
know how to pose them, and whether they will be of old 
or young people.’ 

“ ‘They will be mostly old people, and what I want ’em 
for is for a private gallery of my own.’ 

“‘All right,’ said I; ‘I will do them at twenty-five 
dollars apiece, cash down.’ 

“ Well, we agreed upon the contract. The next day 
he brings me an old man about eighty years old, and I 
did the business for him ; the next was a very old lady, 
and in a couple of sittings I got her facial expression ; 
and so it went on, until I will take my oath there was not 
an old man or woman of a respectable family, within a 
hundred miles of his farm, but what he had her or his 
portrait. It was a pretty good neighborhood, and as he 
kept a pretty good table I worked away until there was 
not a room in the house but the walls were covered with 
these solemn-looking portraits.’’ 

“ Why, what did he do with them?’’ they all cried. 

“ See, now, what a sharp fellow he is. As soon as one of 
these old people died, their families in the first blush of grief 
would go to Pogley, and say, ‘ Pog, my dear grandfather 
or grandmother is dead, and you must let me have that 
portrait ; I must have some good likeness of him or her.’ 
‘Well,’ Pogley would say, ‘I don’t like to part with the 
old gentleman or lady, but I don’t want to be selfish ; pay 
me what I gave for it, and promise to sell it me back when 
you are tired of it, and you take it away with you.’ ‘Oh, 
they never would be tired of it !’ and, as a matter of course, 
Pogley made them pay five times what it cost him, and took 
care never to ask for it back again. And I tell you, gentle- 
men, he m^de a heap of money by it, just a heap.” 

20* 


230 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“Yes, and he will go to Hades for all his pains,” said 
the doctor, who was an indignant listener. 

It was very late that night when the doctor showed his 
guests to the door, and Bishop pulled the doctor aside, 
and after thanking him very obsequiously for the tre- 
mendous pleasure he had received, told him solemnly 
that in the next number of the paper he should furnish an 
elaborate article upon the beauty and variety of Dr. 
Knappe’s collection of art treasures. The doctor’s heart 
sank within him when he heard this announcement, but 
he was too good natured to object to this doubtful honor. 

“Think of it,” he said, to Renata, whom he found at 
the side window which looked down the street, and from 
which that young lady was in the habit of watching the 
figure of Parthee when he left the house, “ think of it, 
that Bishop is going to write four or five columns of non- 
sense over my pictures, and the people will think that 
they are as bad as his foolish phrases ! What have I done 
that I should have such a punishment?” 

“That hurts nothing,” said the^girl; “I believe there 
are only two people in the city who read Bishop’s criti- 
cisms, he and his wife.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

A NEW WORK OF ART, AND AN OLD WORK OF LOVE. 

“At last,” said the doctor to himself, one morning, 
as a constable placed in his hand a piece of printed 
paper, called a subpoena, and which notified him that, 
at the criminal court, the case of the State against 
Leonard would l)e called for hearing on a certain day, 


A NEW WOEK OF ART. 


231 

and he was commanded to be present as a witness. ‘‘If 
ever there was a deliberate, cold-blooded murder com- 
mitted on this earth, that was one ; but why they should 
subpoena me is a mystery, for I know nothing of it, 
except that my poor friend was barbarously murdered, 
and that in intellect, heart, and character, he was worth 
them all. Yes,” said the doctor, warming with his 
theme, “worth the whole kit of them.” 

“How is his wife?” said the old housekeeper, who 
overheard the doctor’s soliloquy. 

The doctor sighed. “ She has lost her reason. Kettle, 
and I fear never will recover it. She goes out at night 
and stands upon the road near that dreadful grove, and 
waits for her lover. It is dreadful. For God’s sake do 
not let Renata go that way in the evening, or I shall have 
a fearful time with her. The Lord knows I have trouble 
enough ; there’s Caspar at the war, there are all my letters 
neglected. Redwood killed, and the rebels advancing 
upon us ; I really don’t know what will be the final up- 
shot of it all.” 

“ Ach ! the poor child knows all about Mrs. Leonard, 
for she came crying home the other evening about it; you 
ought to have told her yourself. There’s Caspar’s box 
must go off to-day ; the poor boy does not get enough to 
eat, and we must not let him starve. I have made him 
some nice cake, pies, and also some nice preserves. The 
box ought to have gone off yesterday, and you promised 
you would stop at the express office and tell the man to 
call for it. It will all dry up into cinders before it 
reaches my poor boy.” 

“Well, Kettle, you must not blame me; you see my 
head is full of more important things than pies and cakes 
for Caspar. Yesterday the foreign mail came in, and I 
ought to have received a letter from Burgmiller, but I 


232 


THE LOST MODEL. 


didn’t get it. The devil is certainly loose again in this 
town.” 

“Don’t forget, papa, that to-day at twelve o’clock 
Ferris will exhibit his new group, and he sends you and 
me a special invitation,” said Renata, as she entered. 

“Then you must ride round with me, Renata. I have 
only four patients to visit this morning, and after seeing 
them we will stop at Ferris’s ; and go and put on your 
bonnet at once, for that fool of a horse has lately taken 
it into his head to gnaw all the bark off that nice walnut- 
tree. Stop it, sir!” he shouted through the window at 
that animal, who was reaching around the tree to nibble 
a distant piece of the hanging bark. 

“You have seen a lot of geese,” said the doctor to 
his daughter, as they rode away together, “stretch their 
necks through the fence, and cackle at a traveler as he 
passes by? Well, that is what will take place at Ferris’s. 
In the time of Michael Angelo and Da Vinci, when an 
artist did anything fine or noble the admiring nobles 
and friends would write sonnets to him, and send them 
to him, or crown him with laurel. Now, a fellow in a 
newspaper crams for five minutes on art, and then writes 
an article upon it which takes you an hour to read, and 
which you would never understand if you read it every 
day for a hundred years.” 

“Yes, and in those good old Florentine times, these 
same admiring friends and artists would secretly throw 
a stone and break the statue to pieces, or they would 
quietly stab the artist,” said Renata. 

“Now you are talking nonsense, my child.” 

“Well, papa, I am as near right as you are. Did they 
not have a guard of men, when David, the great statue of 
Angelo, was being moved to its place, to prevent the en- 
vious or malicious from secretly destroying it ?” 


A NEW WORK OF ART. 


233 


don’t know which is the worst of the two, that, 
or a crowd of giggling, impudent women, each of whom 
fancies herself a queen, and who cackle, ‘ Oh, Mr. Ferris, 
what big feet your statue has got!’ ‘ Oh, Mr. Ferris, why 
don’t you dress your statues 1’ and ‘ Oh, isn’t that lovely !’ 
and ‘Ah, ain’t that charming!’ ” And the doctor imitated 
the childish treble of a fashionable beauty. 

The doctor’s round of visits that morning took longer 
than usual, for at several of the houses, when it was known 
that Renata was outside in the buggy, the doctor had to 
bring her in, for she was quite a favorite with many of his 
patients. Once inside the house, so many things were 
discussed among the women, and the doctor was always 
so delighted to talk when he found attentive listeners, 
that Renata had great trouble in getting him back to the 
buggy, in order that they might be in time for the exhi- 
bition. 

They were half an hour behind the time when they 
reached the sculptor’s atelier. “ And we never thought of 
a flower, bouquet, or something of that kind for Ferris,” 
groaned the doctor, as he tied up his horse. 

“That is to say, you did not think of it; now I am 
more thoughtful, papa, and I made Parthee promise me, 
a week ago, that he would make the prettiest one to be 
seen.” 

The place was filled with people, who made way for the 
new-comers, as Ferris, dressed in his military frock-coat, 
with a rose upon the lapel, with both hands welcomed 
them in. The aristocracy and beauty of the city were 
there, and the doctor felt ashamed of his dress and bare 
hands, amidst the handsome coats, yellow gloves, silks, 
and feathers of the rest of the company. Every city has 
its aristocratic circle, or “upper-crust,” as it is vulgarly 
called. You go into a village of twenty-five inhabitants, 


234 


THE LOST MODEL, 


and there in that wilderness you find one family in which 
the men wear long hair and big shirt-collars, and the 
ladies wear faded fashions and talk French. You are 
notified that this is the Dillon family, one of the greatest 
in the Union ; the grandfather fought in the Revolution, 
the father fought in the war of 1812, and the son was a 
colonel in the Mexican War. You find that they own all 
th*e land in the county, and, what is worse, that the men 
are dissipated and vicious, and the women vain and friv- 
olous. 

Of course, Boshville had its aristocracy, the head of 
which reached back to the Revolution of 1776 or to the 
first settlement of 1800 ; it owned the greater part of the 
land, and it was represented to-day in Boshville by dressy 
young men, who were strong in clothes, if weak bodily 
and mentally, and young ladies, pale, thin, little-footed, 
and with a wonderful ability for flirtation. Our male 
aristocracy, as a rule, is not a success ; the young men 
scarcely or ever get over the private vices they studied 
with so much eagerness at Paris, and consequently they 
only illustrate the maxim : there is one thing poor human 
nature cannot stand, and that is continued prosperity. A 
man may reach ninety years in poverty, while your pros- 
perous, wealthy fellow gets a paralytic stroke long before he 
is fifty. But we will not repeat what everybody knows. 

The great Boshville politician, Bigtalk, was there, high, 
hawk-nosed, solemn, and with the words "dripping from 
his lips with the regularity and indifference of the water 
that ran out of the mouth of the stone nymph in the 
fountain. 

The artists were also there ; seated in the front was old 
Leslie, and next to him the archbishop, smiling and be- 
nevolent ; and at the side was Bishop the art critic, with 
his head upon his hand, lost in profound contemplation. 


A NEW WORK OF ART. 


235 


This pose served two ends : it drew the attention of the 
audience towards him, and then his abstract look pre- 
vented you from asking him any question, and thus find- 
ing out that he had no ideas. Mrs. Ferris was at the side 
talking to Parthee, who held, wrapped up in paper, a 
beautiful wreath of flowers; and it was with unerring 
instinct that Renata found herself in the neighborhood, 
and took the seat at his side, offered to her by the smiling 
sculptor’s wife. 

From the front to the door were seated the male and 
female aristocracy of Boshville ; and we can say that the 
faces of the ladies were as pale, their hair as long, their 
feet as small, and their clothes as costly as any of their 
peers in the Commonwealth ; and as for the gentlemen, 
they were only the reverse side of the same medal. 

It represents,” said the sculptor, in reply to a ques- 
tion from the doctor, and there was silence to hear the 
explanation, ‘‘the moment when Mary Magdalene visits 
the sepulchre, and, stooping down to examine the place 
where our Saviour was laid, discovers the angel, who, with 
uplifted hand, tells her that her Master is not here. He is 
risen from the dead.” 

A stream of sunlight poured upon the group from the 
skylight, and showed, cut in white marble, two figures, — 
one standing with hand uplifted, the other kneeling, with 
the hands outstretched as though in supplication. 

“ Yes, yes, I understand now,” said the doctor; “lam 
really so ignorant of the Bible” — he dropped his voice as 
he saw the archbishop near him — “ that I did not perceive 
the application at first. And very beautiful it is. There 
is a dignity and grace in the form of the angel, and noble 
expression upon the features, that one rarely meets with 
in modern works of sculpture. The kneeling figure is 
Mary Magdalene, the standing figure is the angel. Yes, 


236 


THE LOST MODEL. 


it is fine — upon my word. Let me see the face of the 
Magdalene. Ah, what an innocence and purity there 
beams in her face ! Well, Ferris, with such faces as you 
have around you, how you can imagine and form such a 
noble, Madonna-like face, astonishes me. It is certainly 
wonderful !” 

“ Oh, as to that, doctor,” said the artist, smiling, the 
original yonder has still a grace in it that I have been 
unable to catch.” And he nodded in the direction of 
Renata, who was discussing the work with Parthee and 
Mrs. Ferris. 

‘‘What does he say?” said the wealthy Miss Dillon; 
“that Doctor Knappe’s daughter is the model for the 
Magdalene ?’ ’ 

“ That accounts for the big foot,” said her sister ; “it 
is a regular toe-crusher. Just look at it ! Number six, at 
least. ’ ’ 

“ You are mistaken,” said Leslie, who overheard them; 
“Miss Knappe has very small feet; but Ferris says it is 
one of the conditions of high art that it should have good 
understandings ; so he took the original of those feet from 
his own or his wife’s.” 

“It appears to me,” said Bishop, suddenly awaking 
from his fit of contemplation, and groaning out the idea 
which he had just dug out of the depths of his conscious- 
ness, “that in these two figures art now appears in new 
forms. Art has been symbolized in Greece and Italy, and 
is manifold in all the forms and beauty of those of older 
civilization ; but now comes a new epoch, — a higher civili- 
zation, — our civilization ; and these two noble figures 
shadow forth the future that awaits us. ’ ’ And he fell back 
into his reverie. 

“That depends upon how you look at it, — upon your 
standpoint,” said Waldemar. 


A NEW WORK OF ART. 


237 


“You see lots of those kind of things in Florence and 
Rome,” said a pale-faced young man, with a moustache 
that completely covered the lower part of his face ; “ every- 
body cuts statues there, — they are quite common.” 

“ Oh, how lovely that must be !” was the reply. 

“Yes, indeed; a friend of mine was mighty anxious 
that I should sit for his model ; he was a sculptor, you 
know, and there was something, you know, in my face he 
was mighty anxious to cut.” 

“Oh, of course!” echoed the young lady. And she 
examined the puerile features with renewed admiration. 

“Where did you get your bonnet, or, rather, your 
hat?” said the sculptor’s wife, examining that article upon 
the head of Miss Knappe. 

“I purchased the frame, and trimmed it myself; the 
verbena in it, however, is from nature, as Parthee calls it. 
Do you like it ?” 

“Now, Renata,” said Parthee, gravely, “this gentle- 
man behind me is going to make a speech to Mr. Ferris, 
and then you and I will present him with this wreath.” 
And he uncovered a very beautiful circle of flowers and 
leaves. 

“And I must fix you up for it, my child,” said the 
sculptor’s wife ; “ you must let your hair down, and look 
as artistic as possible.” And she hurried out with the 
girl. 

“I don’t know, my dear doctor,” said the archbishop, 
quietly taking a pinch of snuff, “ that I can appreciate so 
highly as you do ancient or Greek art. Christian art has 
a higher aim, a broader sympathy and interest for the 
human heart. It not only seeks to portray the beautiful 
form, but it has a moral to convey. It is not a mere ques- 
tion of skin and muscle, but of the soul and life eternal. 
Are you never struck yourself with the cold and unsym- 

21 


238 


THE LOST MODEL. 


pathetic expression upon the faces of your antique gods 
and goddesses ? Contrast that with our modern idea of 
the face, and the advantage is certainly ours, eh?” 

Pardon me, pardon me; it is the very objective 
character of the beauty,” said the doctor, “which gives 
them immortality. To-day we lead very artificial lives, 
and, consequently, our desires and sentiments are false 
and artificial ; and our painters seek to express this, and 
this only, and the result is, they paint deformities, and the 
people admire them. For instance, now, take England. 
Her modern pictures are full of a morbid sentimentality, 
which have no meaning — no possible meaning — outside 
of a life and civilization at once nervous and sensual, 
and ” 

The doctor was interrupted by General Flareup, who 
advanced to the centre of the room, where Ferris was 
standing and listening, followed by Parthee and Renata, 
carrying a very beautiful wreath of flowers ; and, taking 
the pose of an orator, commenced a very flattering eulogy 
of the statue and the statuary. With dark, rolling eyes 
and a loud, ringing voice, the orator apostrophized now 
the sculptor, and now the marble group. He spoke of 
the fact that at this very time, when two immense armies 
were grappling at each other’s throats, when the very 
existence of the nation was at stake, when in the horizon, 
by day and night, was the red light of war, and in the 
atmosphere the roar of the dreadful clash of arms, yet 
here, in a peaceful city, a citizen of the great Republic 
was modeling and forming for posterity a work of art 
which might outlast the brazen monuments of war and 
the ornaments of peace. When he closed, the other two 
advanced, and, amidst the applause of the spectators, 
placed the wreath upon the blushing sculptor. 

Ferris returned his thanks in the best manner he 


A NEW WORN OF ART. 


239 


could, and after taking off the wreath and placing it upon 
one of the stone pedestals, so fhat it would not be injured, 
he invited his guests to a light collation which had been 
prepared in an adjoining room, and to which the best part 
of the company adjurned, headed by the sculptor and the 
venerable archbishop. Toasts were drank, speeches made, 
and lively, animated discussions took place among the 
company. Bishop somewhat dashed their spirits by at- 
tempting the history of sculpture, which he had lately 
crammed from the pages of the Encyclopaedia Brittannica, 
and which, in his manner of treating it, was worse than 
an explanation of a logarithm. Waldemar, however, in 
one of his amusing Western stories, restored the equilib- 
rium, and the doctor, in reply to a toast, made, as the 
paper said next day, his greatest effort. 

‘^It certainly is not more than a week ago,” pursued 
the doctor, that I was called upon to visit a family 
professionally, one of the wealthiest in the West. The 
house cost a quarter of a million to build. It was much 
handsomer than the Pitti Palace. It had a marble colon- 
nade ; rooms twenty feet high ; a staircase under a dome 
like the entrance to a cathedral ; blue paper on some 
walls, others had gold and white, and everywhere rich 
woods, thick carpets, and giant mirrors. The furniture 
was what is considered superb, although it was machinery- 
made, and in my opinion worthless ; however that may 
be, there was the house, — lofty, grand, brilliant, and 
cold. There was not a picture in the house worthy to be 
looked at in daylight; not a statuette, not a shred of 
anything but what tended to material comfort. And the 
owner was just like the house ; he wore a coat which cost 
a hundred dollars, but he never in his life bought a book 
which was worth more than five cents. He was high, 
well dressed, cold, and material. There were but two 


240 


THE LOST MODEL. 


themes he could talk about : one, the price of real estate, 
and the other, that the Democrats were going to carry the 
next election. He paid two hundred dollars for a table to 
eat his dinner upon, and yet he grumbled at me and called 
me extravagant because I paid one hundred dollars for a 
violin. M'y violin, in fifty years, will sell for five hundred 
dollars, and his table will be bought for ten, and will one 
day light the kitchen-fire. Now, what I want to say by 
all this is, that ” 

*^What kind of a fiddle is it?” here interposed a little, 
dark-haired man, leaning eagerly across the table. The 
question nonplussed the doctor, and while he was recover- 
ing himself to either answer or go on, the company broke 
into a laugh, the glasses clinked, the ladies whispered and 
giggled, and the doctor’s moral was lost. 

Ach^ lieber Papa, plaudern sie nicht so viel; and do 
not wait for me \ I and Parthee are going to walk home, 
it is such beautiful weather,” whispered Renata, in the 
ear of her father. 

^‘Tell me, Fraulein Knappe,” said Gottlieb, as she 
passed, “ have you been to the beautiful park we have now 
north of the city, — we call it Belleview ?” 

‘‘ No ; is it a pretty place ?” 

‘‘ Oh, charming ! there are hills, slopes, graveled walks, 
and groups of the finest trees in the country ; besides, 
from one of the hill-tops, where Schnapps sells Catawba 
wine, you can see the whole country for miles around.” 

Oh, Parthee, let us go there ! let us all three go 
there!” said the delighted girl, to whom an invitation 
for a walk upon the hills was the most delightful of all 
occupations, especially when it was shared with Parthee. 
An hour later, the three were seated upon the top of one 
of the highest hills in Belleview, where an old German 
had erected a kind of platform, with tables and chairs ; 


A NEW WORN OF ART. 


241 


and while Renata, with her hat off, sat and watched the 
bending of the majestic river, the distant hills, woods, 
valleys, and roads, interspersed with straggling farms and 
houses, the artist smoked his pipe, drank wine, and told 
adventures to the listening Parthee. 

I tells you vat, dere’s noting like an artist-man’s life. 
Liberty is de best ting on dis earth. He is a free man, 
he goes where he vants, and does vat he likes, and shust 
enjoys himself. In de summer I goes and baints on de 
Peever River. I baint a bicture after a storm, when de 
rain makes everyting fresh, ven de leaves is bright mit de 
light and de wet, and de cows glitter like pees in de sun, 
and all nature is like a school-boy’s face, it shines so. I 
shows you one of dem bictures, if you comes mit .me. 
Well, in winter I stays in de city, and baints a little, 
traws a little, and has a good time all de time ; and, by 
cosh, das ist vat I calls life.” 

And he finished by singing them a song that brought 
old Schnapps himself out, and which fairly echoed among 
the hills upon the river-bank. 

But how do you get money to pay rent, and buy all 
the things you want?” said his listeners. 

‘^Oh, I shust sells von of dem bictures. I makes no 
trouble mit dat. No, sir !” 

Renata had watched the glowing sun slowly and grandly 
sink behind the hills, leaving the horizon throbbing with 
his glory, and the birds, in circles, winging their way to 
the black line of the distant forest. They bid Gottlieb 
good-by, and, hand in hand, the couple descended the 
hill, and striking the white road moved towards home. 

What was it that Mrs. Ferris was teasing you about, 
and which you promised to tell me?” said Parthee, looking 
down upon the smiling face that leaned against his 
shoulder. 


21 


242 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“Why, she says if I am engaged I ought to have a 
ring.” And she turned aside her blushing face. 

“A ring !” echoed her companion. 

“Yes, you stupid boy; all young ladies who are en- 
gaged wear rings. Didn’t you see that beautiful diamond 
one on Miss Dillon’s forefinger, — on this one?” And she 
held up the finger in question. 

“ No. And so all young ladies who are engaged wear 
rings. Well, Renata, you had better wear one.” 

“ Yes ; but, you dear old thing, you must give it me as 
a pledge that you will always be true to me. ’ ’ 

“ Is my stone Indian worth much, Renata ? What will 
Bowman, the jeweler, give me for him ? 

“ Mr. Ferris said it was worth several hundred dollars; 

I asked him the other day.” 

“Then Renata shall have a ring like Miss Dillon,” was 
the laconic reply. 

“And I have so much to tell you. Mrs. Ferris says 
that you must leave old Leslie, and come to them ; you 
have talent, and if you only work you can be rich. Be- 
sides, dear Parthee, you must be civilized, you know. 
That wicked old chief of police told . papa, the other day, 
dreadful stories about you. He says you go out of a 
night on the prairie, and meet the Indians there, — and 

all sorts of things; now promise me ” She paused, 

and clung to his arm in terror, for right in the middle of 
the road, closely veiled, stood the figure of a woman, 
with the face looking towards what was known as The 
Grove. She was a slim figure, dressed in black; her 
hands were clasped together, and through her dark veil 
could be seen the gleam of her eyes. 

“It is Annette Leonard! My God !” said the terri- 
fied girl, and, as though fascinated by the silent figure, 
she walked up and spoke to it. 


A JVEW WORK OF ART. 


243 


Go away!” was the answer, in a querulous voice. 
‘‘ Is not the road as free to me as to you ? What do you 
stare at me for ? I am not mad, I am waiting for some 
one. Is that strange ? I live in the house yonder, and I 
am waiting for him. It is rude in you to trouble me. Go 
away, go away 1 ’ ’ 

“ Oh, Parthee !” said the sobbing girl, how can you 
look so indifferently and so coolly upon that poor woman, 
and it almost breaks my heart to see her 1” 

‘‘See, there is her attendant;” and he pointed to the 
figure of a negro woman seated beneath a tree, and who 
was watching them with her big black eyes. “She is 
happier than you are, after all, this poor, crazy woman ; 
for no one can steal her lover, or change him ; and yet 
Renata is afraid of the day that comes without him.” 

He coaxed her away, and tried to make her forget the 
painful vision. But he only partly succeeded, for that 
evening it took the doctor and Kettle until eleven o’clock 
to pacify the excited girl, and she was only quieted at last 
when the doctor vowed that she should not go outside of 
the door for a year at least. And all through her dreams 
the girl saw the woman standing at the cross-roads, pale, 
tired, and ghostly, waiting with heart-killing patience for 
the lover that never would come. 


244 


THE LOST MODEL. 


CHAPTER V. 

HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 

“ What a dreadful commotion there has been in the 
city all this blessed night !” said the doctor, getting up at 
daybreak one morning; the rumbling of wagons, tramp 
and laughter of men, trumpets blowing, and drums beat- 
ing.” And suddenly, hearing the clatter of horses upon 
the hard roadway, he went again to the window, in time 
to see a regiment of cavalry go by at a very good pace. 

It must be true, then, what the papers said yesterday, 
that at last the enemy is within a few miles of the city, 
and a part of this fearful war may really take place right 
in these very streets. And if they capture the city, what 
will become of my few pictures?” 

He paused in making his toilet, alarmed at the coming 
danger, and, with his hand to his head, tried to think of 
some plan by which his few engravings and paintings 
could escape the hands of a victorious enemy. While he 
was still exploring his imagination, the door-bell rang 
violently, and, looking out, he saw at the door a woman 
closely veiled, who beckoned to him to open the door 
immediately. Down he went, cravat in hand, and let in 
the voluble Mrs. Denham, who, shutting the door hur- 
riedly behind her, opened at once her batteries of elo- 
quence upon the doctor. 

‘‘There, don’t apologize for your appearance, doctor; 
more important things than cravats are at stake. In a 


HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 


245 


word, my old friend, they are here ! You have no time 
to lose ; this is the last day for Boshville. You and your 
daughter had better come to my house ; I know them all, 
and I will hoist a flag that will certainly protect us.” 

Flag? Why, who is coming? What in the name of 
God is the matter?” 

‘‘Matter, Dr. Knappe ! Why, there are fifty thousand 
men within ten miles of the city, marching at double- 
quick upon us, under the command of General Bill Allen ; 
and before noon to-day this pretty town will be gobbled 
up and lost like a feather in a snow-storm. General 
Bill Allen, one of the greatest soldiers on this earth, will 
swallow up Boshville like a tiger would a turkey. And I 
am glad of it. There are too many Yankees in this town. 
My son George, educated, as you are aware, at East Bluff, 
the finest military academy in the world, is in the Southern 
army, — an army, let me tell you, of gentlemen, of patriots, 
of men who know what fighting is, and are not hired for 
the purpose. I tell you, doctor, and you mark what I say, 
these gallant people will die in the last ditch, before they 
will be ruled by a lot of contemptible dough-faces and 
niggers.” 

“But, my dear Mrs. Denham, Harry, your son also, is 
in the Union army, and surely ” 

“I don’t care if he is. George has more sense and 
honor in his little finger than Harry has in his whole 
body. It was the fault of my husband. He must send 
Harry to one of those Eastern colleges, and then, to finish 
him, send him to a German University, where he imbibed 
every principle except those which made his country the 
refuge for all the slaves of the world. Equality, forsooth ! 
why, it don’t exist among dogs, much less men. Besides, 
what right had Harry to join the Union army in oppo- 
sition to my wishes ? God forbid they should ever meet 


246 


THE LOST MODEL. 


in the same battle ! but if they do, my son George will do 
his duty.” 

^‘But, Mrs. Denham, this is dreadful ! brother against 
brother, and mother against son ; why, what will be the 
end of all this?” 

As he finished speaking, the loud report of a cannon 
shook the windows in the house, and was echoed among 
the hills like rolling thunder. 

There ! I told you so. That is Bill Allen’s artillery, 
I know it by the sound. Now you’ll get it. The North 
brought this trouble on themselves. One man’s property 
is as good as another’s, and is entitled to the same pro- 
tection. Fifteen years ago, when I brought George here 
on a visit, with his old nurse. Black Mary, — a colored 
girl that I had raised myself, — what did the people here 
do ? Why, they took her away from me by force, although 
the girl begged them to let her stay with me. Oh, no ; 
no slave could touch this sacred soil. But is she any 
better off now for her freedom ? She always rode at my 
side in the carriage, and sat in the same room with me 
often ; while here, if she was to dare to get into an omnibus 
with white mechanics and other small fry, they would kick 
her out like a dog.” 

The doctor was not listening very attentively to the 
excited woman, for outside the noise and confusion seemed 
to increase, and with it the doctor’s perplexity. 

“ Oh, as I told you, it is all over with Boshville. Bill 
Allen has beaten General Bumlar, — the spoon -stealing 
beast, — and he will be here before long and sack this 
town like a fox with a hen-roost. Now, my house will be 
sacred, — they know me. I am one of them; you and 
your daughter can come there and be perfectly safe. 
They have been annoying me for the last two weeks, — 
these dough-faces have, — by secretly posting men to find 


f 


HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 


247 


out who came in and who went out of my house. Now, 
it will be my turn, and the idiots will find out the dif- 
ference.” 

At this moment a file of soldiers halted in front of the 
doctor’s house, and, grounding their muskets on the pave- 
ment, made a clatter that rang through the streets, and 
startled the voluble lady. A loud knocking took place 
at the door, and some one commanded the door to be 
opened. 

“Not yet, doctor,” screamed Mrs. Denham; “the 
devils are after me again ! Here, open your back door, 
and help me over the fence ; if they catch me, they will 
kill me.” 

She darted through the passage to the kitchen, and 
through the kitchen to the yard, the doctor at her heels ; 
and before he could reach her she had scrambled over 
the wooden fence, with more celerity than grace, and 
went ducking away in the distance. When the doctor 
hurried to the door, he found a lieutenant with a com- 
pany of soldiers, and in the middle, fifteen or twenty 
civilians who were laughing and chaffing each other. 

“Here is another forced volunteer,” one said, as the 
doctor made his appearance, trying to put on his cravat 
at the same time. 

“What is your name?” said the officer. 

“Dr. Conrad Knappe.” 

“ Don’t you know that all the home-guards were called 
out last night at twelve o’clock? In what ward company 
is your name enrolled?” 

“In none that I know of.” 

“ Then you will step into the ranks here with the rest.” 

“But I have not had my breakfast,” stammered the 
doctor. 

There was a loud laugh at this, and one of the captured 


248 


THE LOST MODEL. 


civilians suggested that they should stop at the drug store 
and get a few pills for him, and he might then regale 
himself as he went along. 

‘^Besides, Mr. Officer, my patients must be visited this 
morning,” and he pulled out his visiting-book to show the 
names of the suffering persons under his charge. 

‘‘I cannot help that, sir,” was the reply. ‘^The city 
is under martial law, and the order is that every grown 
male person, of whatever profession, shall turn out and 
defend the city. Unless you have a pass from the com- 
manding general, you must join the rest.” 

‘‘Why, papa,” said Renata, hurrying to the rescue, 
having overheard the dialogue, “ why don’t you show the 
gentleman Mr. Leslie’s letter, in which he says you are 
to carry a staff? That is the pass the officer is asking you 
for. * ’ 

“Is it?” said the bewildered doctor. 

The officer politely hinted his desire to see that paper; 
and the three went into the doctor’s office for that pur- 
pose. The desk was searched, the drawers in the table, 
the mantelpiece, and finally it was found in the coat- 
pocket of the doctor. 

The latter not having his spectacles handy, asked the 
lieutenant to read it ; the document read as follows; 

“ Dear Knappe, — The general commanding this dis- 
trict has made me commander of this post, so far as the 
home -guards are concerned. I have reserved you a place 
on my staff, where you will be of more service than in the 
ward organization. Report at once for duty. 

“Yours, Leslie, 

“ Lt. Col. in command.” 

“And you have not yet reported yourself,” said the 


HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 


249 


officer, laughing; ‘^wheii you do report yourself, the 
colonel may place you under arrest.” 

^‘You don’t tell me! but is there, then, so much 
danger ?” 

‘‘A large force of the enemy is within twenty miles of 
the city. We are digging trenches five miles out of Bosh- 
ville, and fortifying the surrounding hills. All, of course, 
depends upon the result of the meeting between Ulman 
and the enemy. How is it you are in such ignorance of 
the things passing under your nose? Don’t you never 
read the newspapers?” 

‘‘Newspapers!” said the doctor, indignantly. “I 
don’t get time to read my medical books, much less the 
newspapers. For ten years, yes, for fifteen years, I have 
been promising myself to read Plato, and to this day I 
have never had the time.” 

The officer tried hard to conceal the sneer on his face 
at this confession that Plato was of more importance than 
the daily newspaper, and, touching his cap to Renata, 
withdrew. There was some disappointment among the 
crowd when “Bolus,” as he was called, was not carried 
off ; but they were compensated at the next house, for 
there two men were found concealed under the bed, and 
they were dragged out and marched off, to the delight of 
the volunteers. 

When the men and soldiers had marched away, the 
doctor, his daughter, and the housekeeper. Kettle, held 
a solemn council of war. 

Renata, having been admonished to be sensible for once 
in her life, and not let off so much nonsense as she usually 
did, was quiet and reticent, and the doctor had the field 
pretty much to himself. 

“You see,” he said, solemnly, first cautiously looking 
round, to be sure that no one was listening at the window 

22 


250 


THE LOST MODEL, 


or door, “this country is gathering the first crop of 
nettles which has silently shot up ; the selfishness and 
onesidedness of the family has reached the State, and a 
million of men, who a year ago called each other brothers, 
are grappling one another by the throat over the question 
whether liberty does not mean unrestrained license. In 
the South, they insist upon the right to make a horse out 
of a man, and they propose to kill anybody who says a 
man with a black skin is as good as one born white. I 
have paid so little attention to politics that, whenever a 
political question is discussed, I keep my mouth shut, for 
fear of offending somebody or another. What was I 
going to say?” After a pause: “Oh, after breakfast I 
shall go and see Leslie, and it is possible I may be 
detained, or be sent out to the trenches, or wherever they 
expect to fight; for, although I am not much of a surgeon, 
yet I can give some help. And now, you heard what the 
officer said, that martial law is proclaimed, consequently 
you will keep the house closed, and stay in it yourselves, ‘ 
and let no one in, — unless it is Mrs. Denham, perhaps, 
whose foolishness has got her into a good deal of trouble.” 

“But suppose the enemy takes the city, and all the 
soldiers come, and there is no man in the house, what 
shall we do, papa ?” said Renata. 

“My God!” said the doctor, “I wonder where I 
could hide them 1 They would be stolen, sure 1” 

“ I was not speaking of your foolish pictures,” said the 
girl, indignantly; “I was speaking of Kettle and me. 
What are we to do ? As for your daubs, they may take 
care of themselves.” 

Kettle saved a very bitter discussion at this point by 
insisting that breakfast should be eaten first, and then 
afterwards could be decided what was to be done. 

After breakfast the doctor left them, promising Renata 


HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 


251 


to send word by Parthee when he (the doctor) would 
return, as well as the result of the battle. When he left 
the house, he closed the front shutters of his office, and 
stood at the door while the bolts were drawn and the 
house locked up. He hesitated, with the pencil in his 
hand, looking upon the slate fastened upon his door, 
whether he should write, Gone to the war” or “ Gone 
to the front,” but finally concluded to write, “Gone 
out!” 

The streets were almost deserted by foot-passengers or 
vehicles, except that every two or three squares he 
would come across bodies of men, on the sidewalk and 
in the middle of the street, dressed in citizens’ clothes, 
and being drilled in marching or the manual of arms. 
Sentinels in citizens’ clothes, at the corners of the streets, 
stopped him, and only let him pass upon learning that 
he was a doctor and was going to headquarters. News- 
paper boys were shouting through the streets the third 
edition of the “ Truthteller,” with the latest news of 
General Bill Allen, and the Federal commanders, Uhlman 
and Bumlar. 

The shops were closed, and here and there in the road 
would lie a dray, cart, wagon, or omnibus, the horses of 
which had been impressed for military service. In one 
of the avenues a regiment of soldiers were bivouacking, 
some, curled up in their blankets, asleep upon the side- 
walk, others, seated upon the steps of the doorways, were 
eating, or writing a letter in pencil, or reading a news- 
paper; all of them jaded, dirty, and covered with mud. 
The banks and banking-houses were protected by a com- 
pany of artillery, who had drawn up their pieces so as to 
be able to sweep the streets in front of them. 

Everywhere the confusion of what is called military 
order. At the Salmagundi House, now the headquarters 


252 


THE LOST MODEL. 


of the commandant of the post, were drawn up in line 
hundreds of men, mostly farmers and countrymen, each 
one armed with a long, slender rifle ; and these formed 
the famous Crockett Brigade ; for it was said there was 
not a man in the regiment but could put a shot through 
the eye of either hawk or squirrel at any distance within 
range of his rifle. The Crockett Brigade had suddenly 
mustered for the protection of Boshville, and were at 
this moment being inspected by Leslie, or rather Colo- 
nel Leslie, as he was called, previous to taking the field. 
As Colonel Leslie was walking back to his office in the 
front room of the hotel, he caught sight of Dr. Knappe, 
who had been watching with open mouth and rolling 
eyes the military movements in front of the Salmagundi 
House, and, beckoning to him, took him by the arm and 
introduced him to some of the military men present. 

Everything was a novelty for the doctor, and he could 
not speak much for astonishment. The aid-de-camps, 
who, mounted upon horses covered with mud, rode like 
lightning through the streets; the regiments of men that 
continually marched by; the clattering of the artillery 
as it jolted along over the ill-paved and uneven streets, 
and the long line of ambulances and wagons, leaving and 
coming from the front. Many of his German friends he 
found strutting about in their military costumes, ordering 
and arranging, in very bad English, companies of their 
fellow-citizens. In the hotel, everything was in a bustle 
and noisy movement. Four or five officers, with big 
swords, were standing around a table, and discussing a 
plan of the city and surrounding hills which lay before 
them. Soldiers were seated at desks writing assiduously, 
and a sentinel stood at the door, to prevent idlers from 
entering it. Leslie took the doctor into a corner of the 
room. 


HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 


253 


‘^There’s the devil to pay here, and you as well as the 
rest must make yourself useful. Throw aside that plug 
hat, and I’ll give you an order on the quartermaster for 
a cap and overcoat ; that is as much of the military dress 
as you need wear until you get yourself a suit. Now 
don’t talk, but listen. Uhlman has made me commander 
here, and I want to get everybody worth a pin into the 
public service. The news is bad. We lost a good many 
men in yesterday’s skirmish; and, by the by, Harry Den- 
ham is badly wounded in the shoulder, and is lying here 
at the landing, and as his old cat of a mother has cleared 
out, you had better take him to your house ; however, of 
that some other time. Did you hear that noise?” The 
doctor listened, and a heavy rolling sound was heard like 
distant thunder. 

^‘They have been at it since daybreak. Uhlman with 
sixty thousand men is there, and they say Allen has over 
two hundred thousand. Our city depends upon the 
success of the fight. I have put you on my staff as sur- 
geon, and you can go immediately out with the ambu- 
lances and help the wounded.” 

The perspiration broke out upon the doctor’s face. 
‘‘I give you my word, Leslie, that I never performed 
an operation, and do not honestly believe that I could 
cut off a man’s little toe without killing him.” 

Oh, of course it would not be modest if you did not 
make yourself out the biggest ass in the State. However, 
if you can’t cut, you can bind up the wounded, and help 
those who can. Now, do as I tell you, and stop fighting 
shadows. By the by, you can wear one of the soldier’s 
overcoats and a fatigue cap, and that will give you a 
military look. Here, I will give you an order for them 
upon the quartermaster. You will find him in the lower 
story.” 


22 * 


254 


THE LOST MODEL. 


By the time the doctor had got himself into the blue 
overcoat of a soldier’s outfit he had come across two or 
three other doctor friends, who, like himself, were sud- 
denly called upon to go out and tend the wounded ; and 
the doctor’s courage and confidence arose as he found that 
he was not the only lame duck (as he expressed it) of the 
party. 

'‘You need not be uneasy about your house,” said Leslie 
to the doctor, as the latter got into the ambulance with 
the others. “In the first place, I pretty much cleared the 
city of vagabonds and loafers : you will pass them on 
your way out, digging trenches ; and when Parthee comes 
back, I will send him around to see that all is straight. 
Where is he now ? I sent him yesterday out beyond the 
plains, as I heard that a large body of Callipohas had 
come in, and I thought likely my son George was among 
’em. Well, get in, old fellow. Good-by.” 

And as he waved his hand the ambulances, accompanied 
with a large body of cavalry and several regiments of 
foot-soldiers, started in the direction of the southern 
horizon, where heavy clouds of smoke hung in the sky, 
and out of which came the roar of incessant artillery. 
For many years afterwards, the doctor’s experience of 
those two or three days formed the subject of conversa- 
tion. There was nothing escaped his eyes. He told 
how, as he neared the field of action, the news came that 
the formidable Southern general. Bill Allen, had been 
killed, and that his army was in full retreat. He would 
describe how the roads were knee-deep in mud, and en- 
cumbered with miles of baggage-wagons, artillery caissons, 
and ambulances ; how he crossed fields, where thousands 
of men were lying down in the mud and water to avoid the 
terrible iron missiles that went hissing through the air 
and shivering the trees to pieces, and dashing up the 


HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 


.255 


earth into the air as though it was only water j and he 
told of the dreadful stench in the air, which he found 
to come from the dead horses and from the groups of 
dead men, whose faces, although they had been killed 
only a few hours, were as black as cinders. And there 
was one other thing which haunted his imagination and 
memory through the balance of his life, and which he 
always told in a subdued voice : 

‘‘I saw numbers of dead men lying under hedges and 
at the foot of trees, where the poor fellows had crawled 
for shelter; others were lying thickly together where they 
had fallen, when struck by some shell or cannon-ball, as 
many as twenty in a group. But there was one thing 
about them all, — every one had his pockets turned inside out. 
In some instances the coat buttons were torn off in the 
haste to get at the pocket ; and as true as there is a God 
above us, there was not a dead man upon the field, be he 
friend or foe, private or officer, but had been robbed in 
the very pangs of death, and his pockets inside out 
attested the horrible fact. Now, I presume wolves eat 
dead wolves who fall in the chase, and rats, for all I 
know, may eat each other when other food is wanting. 
But that in this civilization, after the boasted nineteen 
centuries of Christianity, of progress, and refinement, 
there are men and women who follow our armies and rob 
our dead warriors upon the battle-field, fills me with 
despair. Redwood’s favorite philosopher was right after 
all. Der Mensch ist im Grunde ein wildes^ entsetzliches 
Thier ; there is many a brute beast on the earth that is 
far superior to him. No, no, God forgive our impudence 
and arrogance, we are not made in His image !” 


256 


THE LOST MODEL. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 

Boshville was in a dreadful turmoil at this time. The 
battle which had been fought in the neighborhood had 
been quite a severe one, to judge from the number of 
wounded which came streaming into the city night and 
day. Ambulances, wagons, express-carts, and farmers’ 
hay vehicles slowly and constantly rumbled through the 
city, bearing heaps of men, wrapped in their blue over- 
coats, hastily bandaged, and more hastily operated upon 
by the overworked surgeons upon the field, and many of 
whom were now slowly bleeding to death. 

The railroads at each end of the city were pouring in 
lines of men and ammunitions of war ; and side by side 
with the stream of wounded which incessantly poured 
into the city marched the long regiments of blue-coated 
men, who were more rapidly flowing out of the city to 
other and farther battle-fields; so that a cloud of dust 
arose night and day from the road of the leading avenue 
of Boshville. 

Business, that breath of modern civilization, was sus- 
pended, and, instead of an active mart of trade, the 
city became a military camp and hospital. The desire 
for news, however, had increased with the Boshvilleans, 
and every hour a new edition of the “ Truthteller” and 
the “Spread-Eagle” issued, and was bawled through 
the streets by the newsboys. The churches opened 


THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 257 

regularly every morning at eight o’clock, and there 
were prayer-meetings three and four times a day; and 
the oldest inhabitant had never seen such an outbreak 
of piety as took place this week, when the news and 
fears of an invading army were in everybody’s mind. 
When trade was good, profits fair, and the general health 
of the community good, why, church once a week was a 
sufficient exhibition of faith in things divine and super- 
natural; but when war came, bringing with it dull times, 
bankruptcy, and sudden death, the hearts of men were 
shaken, and the neglected devotions of years were paid 
off in a day ; and, in fact, people that never prayed 
before were praying now. 

But it also becomes our duty to record that they not 
only prayed, but that they manfully put their shoulders to 
the wheels of war and pushed like athletes ; and what is 
said of the men may be repeated of the women. 

Boshville in times of peace had a pet company of 
soldiers, who belonged in greater part to the aristocratic 
circles, and who wore very handsome uniforms, and who 
at least four times a year delighted their fellow-citizens 
by marching up and down the beautiful avenues of the 
city, headed by a band, which, when it played, made the 
city tremble ; and on these occasions the people turned 
out as upon a public holiday, and watched their brothers 
and sons enjoying all the glories of war without its 
dangers and dirt. This pet company had volunteered 
when the war broke out, and formed in fact the nucleus 
of the regiment of which our friend Harry Denham was 
the colonel ; and it was a proud sight to see with what 
spirit the young men left their studies and gentle homes 
for the flinty couch of war. In the late battle this regi- 
ment had been cut up in a dreadful manner, and scarcely 
a house in the city but had a friend or relative hurt or 


258 


THE LOST MODEL. 


killed in the fight. Before the pressure of such a general 
misfortune the barriers of class between rich and poor 
fell down, and for once the equality which is found in our 
Declaration of Independence was made manifest in Bosh- 
ville. The lady of the stone-front house and the tenant 
of the frame barrack building met in the hospitals, and 
worked side by side in helping the wounded. They went 
further, and organized their forces, made a central depot 
for the reception of certain articles, — such as jellies, pre- 
serves, pickles, lint, and linen bandages, — and acted in 
corps and at regulated times in the various and, unfortu- 
nately, the numerous hospitals of the city. And any 
hour of the day or night you might see these ladies, in 
calico dresses and clean white aprons, handing soups and 
adjusting the pillows of men whom a year ago they would 
not have allowed to enter their kitchens. 

A general of the regular army had taken charge of the 
city, and after a certain hour in the evening none but 
soldiers were allowed in the streets, and a couple of 
strolling vagabonds had been shot, as Voltaire says, “pour 
encourager les autres.” Several families in the city were 
known notoriously to favor the Southern side of the war 
question, and they were suspected of furnishing news and 
aid to the enemy ; consequently, sentinels were placed at 
their doors, several were arrested, and all were watched 
very closely by spies. 

The most troublesome of these was Mrs. Denham, who, 
in consequence of being a woman of wealth and intelli- 
gence and having a son in the Northern army, even if her 
favorite boy was in the Southern, was a person of too 
much importance to be hastily treated ; consequently, 
spies were placed around her house to report and observe 
this energetic dame. She gave Renata a great deal of 
anxiety, — for she spent most of her time there, as she was 


THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 


259 


afraid of being arrested if she stayed at her own mansion. 
She always brought terrible tales of millions of men who 
were marching towards Boshville and the North generally; 
and the destruction of the Jews in Jerusalem by Titus was 
child’s-play beside the fearful slaughter which the sons of 
chivalry would inflict when they got here; and according 
to the excited dame’s account they were getting nearer 
every day. At last an incident occurred on the third day 
of the military occupation of the city which sent Mrs. 
Denham in a dilferent direction, and relieved Renata of 
the present care of her. Renata’s sleeping-room had an 
uninterrupted view of the prairie which skirted the north 
of the city, and from her veranda she could see the 
various military camps which occupied the plains, and 
watch the incoming and outgoing of the seas of men. 
As, early one morning, Mrs. Denham and Renata were 
watching the striking of tents, and listening to the echoes 
of drum and trumpet, a company of soldiers accompany- 
ing a carriage emerged from a side street, and stopped 
right in front of the Indian mound which overlooked that 
part of the city. The soldiers formed two sides of a 
square, and out of the carriage a man descended fully a 
head above the soldiers who surrounded him ; his hands 
were bound, and they led him aside and seated him upon 
a long coffin-like box, while two men dug a hole on the 
other side of the box. Renata, with the instinct of 
danger, ran away and hid her face in the bed ; but Mrs. 
Denham, with quivering lips and eager eyes, silently 
watched them. The carriage drove away. The men who 
dug the hole shouldered their tools and stood back to the 
rear of the soldiers. She saw a soldier hand his gun to a 
comrade, advance to the bound man, take off his hand- 
cuffs, and with a handkerchief tie his arms behind him. 
The man stood up, and she could see the clustering hair 


26 o 


THE LOST MODEL. 


upon his forehead rise and fall as the morning breeze 
played with it. She saw the officer advance toward him 
and read a letter, at which the bound man nodded and 
turned his head in the direction of the camp, where the 
bugles were still playing the reveille. He was broad- 
chested, tall, and with a hawk-nose and deeply-tanned 
face. He spoke, and that instant a white cloud of smoke 
arose in two lines from the soldiers on each side of him, 
the hills echoed with the rattling roll of musketry, and 
when the smoke cleared away she saw a figure dressed in 
gray lying motionless upon the earth. Mrs. Denham 
knew full well what it all meant, — it was the execution 
of a spy, — and what was more painful to her feelings 
she recognized him as one she had intimately known 
from her youth. She sank back upon a chair, impotent 
from anger and fear. That whole day she neither spoke 
nor ate, and at night when Renata was asleep she slunk 
from the house and crept away. An hour afterwards Re- 
nata was awaked by hearing the bells ring the fire-alarm, 
and rushing to the window, she saw the flames leaping up 
above the houses, in the direction of Mrs. Denham’s 
house ; and while she watched it a passer-by told her it 
was the Denham mansion on fire. My God, what mis- 
fortune !” said Renata. And she ran up-stairs to the little 
garret, where Mrs. Denham had lain the entire day, and 
for the first time discovered that lady’s sudden flight. 
Where she went no one knows, for after that day she was 
never seen in Boshville. 

“Just think of it, my dear Renata,” said Mrs. Bovine, 
“this very night the Denham mansion is burnt, and this 
morning I go with Quincy to the Central Hospital, and 
who shall I see there but Harry Denham, lying fearfully 
wounded, with a great hole through his shoulder. Just 
think of it !” 


THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 261 


It was a proof of the light material with which this 
woman was made, that she never carried malice ; and you 
might quarrel with her overnight, and she would greet 
you smilingly in the morning ; and the several little 
“spats,” as she called them, which she had had previ- 
ously with Miss Knappe, were all forgotten in her desire 
to communicate a little disagreeable news. Harry Den- 
ham was one of the rising and prominent young men of 
Boshville, and his admiration for Miss Knappe had often 
been a subject of intense wonderment on the part of Mrs. 
Bovine ; especially, as she used to add to herself, when 
there were so many elegant young ladies at his disposal. 
And her green eyes glittered again at the sudden pallor 
of Renata. 

“ Ach Gott ! And my brother Caspar?” was the sud- 
den exclamation. 

“ He is all right. Colonel Dugan told me that he had 
been taken on the staff of General Bumlar, and was not 
in the fight at all ; so you need not worry yourself on that 
account. But poor Denham, he is horribly wounded, and 
can’t live, you know. He did not know me last night, 
and he may die any minute.” 

“That is dreadful, and father away! Can we be of 
any use to him, Mrs. Bovine ? Kettle and I will go im- 
mediately.” 

“ Kettle had better stay and take care of the house, and 
you and I will go right away. But, my dear Renata, if the 
sight will shock you, don’t go along by any means; you 
are very sensitive, you know, and so dear a friend ” 

“What all are doing I certainly can do; and the 
dearer the friend, the greater my desire to assist him,” 
was the answer. 

While Renata put on her bonnet and shawl, Mrs. Bo- 
vine gave loose to her thoughts. 

23 


262 


THE LOST MODEL, 


“ He is such a handsome young fellow, I shall dearly 
love, if he is well enough, to take him to my house and 
tend to him properly. I spoke to Quincy about it last 
night, and he is perfectly willing, but says it will be a 
long time before we are able to move him. I wish it had 
been his old cat of a mother that had been shot, don’t 
you? I would wager anything she set fire to her own 
house; but she won’t make anything by that, for Quincy 
says that all the insurance companies are dead broke. 
And what do you think ? Maple, that sleek preacher that 
hangs around Miss Leslie, is nothing better than a spy, 
besides being a regular Don Juan, with a wife in every 
State in the Union ! Quincy told me so last week. I am 
glad that you and I had nothing to do with him. That 
is a pretty little hat you wear. Did you make it your- 
self? I like it very much, it is so becoming ! There goes 
Captain Clatter ; what a fine rider he is ! He is engaged 
to Miss Hardy. But he is a dreadful flirt ; you ought to 
see the notes he writes to me. That is right, lock your 
door carefully, for I don’t more than half believe in these 
sentinels that parade the streets ; the other day I noticed 
two of them watching me at my window dressing. Al- 
though, for the matter of that, the men are all alike, — so 
at least Quincy says.” And here she hurried away with 
her companion. » 

As Renata walked by her side and listened to her vol- 
uble tittle-tattle, she wondered in her mind how so grave 
and learned a man as Dr. Quincy A. Bovine could select 
a woman like Portia for his wife. And she thought of an 
old saying of Redwood’s, that you never find a man or 
woman really out until you see what kind of a companion 
they select for a wife or husband. He once said to her, 
“I am a little anxious to see the man you will fall in 
love with, so that I may know what your weakness is like. 


THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVIIIE. 263 

There was the aristocratic Olivia Topnot, who, by repu- 
tation, was too delicate, too refined and cultured, for any 
common flesh and blood grown in Boshville. She looked 
as though she walked upon lilies and fed upon rose-leaves. 
She had refused every fellow who had the impudence to 
propose. Presently there came along our General Dol- 
liwog, six feet high, a foot like a leg of mutton, and a 
face as red as the evening sun, which a thousand bottles 
had painted. His breath was like the fumes of a whisky 
barrel. I had occasion to talk to him once for five min- 
utes, and the odor of strong drink around him made my 
head swim. Well, sir, the delicate Olivia married him at 
sight, — and she got fat on it. She was secretly an admirer 
of muscular Christianity!” 

And Renata, remembering it, never met Dr. Bovine 
but what she wondered what the weakness was which made 
him select Portia in order to gratify it. For although he 
was very kind to Renata, and never came across a strange- 
looking weed or plant but what he would bring it to her, 
and explain it, still, she knew he looked upon women in 
general as only so many convalescent patients, who had 
to be watched to prevent them from making themselves 
sick or disagreeable. 

At sight of the long rows of beds, each with its swarthy 
and haggard-faced occupant, suffering from camp fevers, 
wounds, and amputations, the close, nauseating atmos- 
phere, the curtains hastily improvised around some of the 
beds to shut out the dying face from the gaze of the rest, 
and the occasional groans which at intervals swept through 
the rooms, the heart of Renata sank within her ; but when 
she saw the little band of women in their white aprons 
passing softly from bed to bed, handing medicines and 
food, she felt ashamed of her idleness, and, taking off her 
bonnet, she walked directly to one of the ladies who was 


264 


THE LOST MODEL. 


talking to the doctor at one end of the room, and asked 
to have some employment designated her. 

The doctor was the husband of Portia. 

“1 was just saying to Mrs. Berry that we had more 
nurses than patients in this building, Miss Knappe, and I 
am afraid that we cannot employ you.” 

‘‘And this is Miss Knappe,” said the lady, holding 
out her hands, and pressing kindly the chubby fingers of 
Renata; “your father and I are old cronies. We never 
meet but what we quarrel about pictures ; he insists that 
whenever any good etchings come to Boshville, that I 
immediately make my husband go and grab them up, 
before the poor doctor has a chance to bid for them.” 

“ I have heard papa speak of you often,” said Renata, 
“ but he praises you very much.” And she looked eagerly 
at the tall, handsome lady. 

“ Now I can give Miss Knappe something to do, doctor, 
if she will come with me, for there are some Germans in 
the other room, and as yet we have no attendant who 
speaks German, and it will cheer up the poor fellows if 
they hear their own language spoken to them.” 

The voice of Renata trembled very much, and it was 
quite faint, as she stood beside the beds and spoke to the 
big-bearded, swarthy heads, that rolled restlessly from 
side to side; but when she saw the tears rise in those 
fierce-looking eyes she forgot her fears, and she spoke 
and moved as though she had known them from child- 
hood. She read a letter for one, and wrote in pencil one 
for another, and to a third, whose eyes seemed almost to 
eat her up, she told her name, and from what part of 
Germany her father came, and how long he had lived in 
the West. When the doctor came for her, she saw with 
unfeigned delight how one struggled to move his wounded 
hand towards her, how the farthest lifted up his head to 


THE DA Y OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 265 

get another look at her, and she blushed to the tips of her 
ears at the chorus she overheard, “ Wie Wicnder schoenP' 
(How beautiful she is !) 

He seems very much better this morning,” said Dr. 
Bovine, who always commenced his conversations in the 
middle ; but I doubt if he is well enough to move.” 

“You are speaking of Colonel Denham?” 

“Yes; you must come and see him, and let us know 
what you think of it.” 

“Tell me, doctor, how is it that the atmosphere is so 
bad here ?’ ’ 

“ Oh, this is the usual hospital air, — it cannot be 
helped. A tent on a hill-top is the best hospital. These 
immense buildings are detrimental. Here ; this is 
Denham !” 

She could scarcely believe her eyes, so altered was the 
face from the one she had parted with. 

At her approach, the tanned and sunburnt face glowed 
with excitement ; the eyes brightened, the lips moved 
convulsively, and the head turned upon the pillow with 
emotion. 

“ He is very weak at present,” said the doctor. “ Yes- 
terday we took out some pieces of bone from beneath his 
shoulder. The operation was a painful one ; but he has 
a good constitution, and will no doubt recover, if I can 
get him away from here. Sit down and speak to him. 
He hears you perfectly well. The wound pains you very 
much this morning, eh, Denham? The nurse tells me 
you haven’t slept much, so I’ve brought you a new one. 
You needn’t try to talk at present; she will be here often 
enough to see you.” 

A few feet off was another bed, upon each side of which 
sat an old, ugly woman, while the occupant of the bed, 
with a ghastly face and glaring eyes, was in a delirium, 
23 * 


266 


THE LOST MODEL. 


trying to ward off with his arm some imaginary deadly 
missile. In answer to her look the doctor answered, — 
He was struck with a shell, which nearly tore him to 
pieces. He has not recovered from the shock. He hears 
it roaring and hissing now. He won’t last long.” 

As she sat there, and smoothed the hand of Denham, 
she repeated to herself a phrase which she had often heard 
Redwood quote, Das Schicksal ist grausam und Die 
Menschen sind erbaermlich. ’ ’ When Renata returned home 
that noon, she learned, to her dismay, from Kettle that 
Parthee had been twice to the house to see her ; that he 
wore the suit of an Indian hunter; and she showed Renata, 
from her window, the group of dirty tents and black forms 
of Indians, which had taken the place of the regular troops 
upon the plain, and among which Renata fancied she saw 
the figure of her lover. 

“ Great God ! if he goes, what is left to me?” was the 
thought which oppressed her. 


CHAPTER VII. 

RENATA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 

“When are you going?” said Mr. Leslie to his pro- 
tege, Parthee, who was carefully adjusting the strap of a 
rifle, and rubbing the dust off the long steel barrel. 

“Bear Cloud is^here; he comes from Washington. 
He says the Lippewahs have left their reservation, and 
are fighting beyond the Red River. He says he will help 
the White Father now.” 

“That is where George is, eh?” 


RENATA FAYS HER TRIBUTE, 


267 


Partbee nodded assent. 

The features of old Leslie grew red with anger, and 
then as suddenly paled with emotion, and his voice trem- 
bled as he gave vent to the principal grief of his life. 

‘‘He cares no more for me than he does for a Sioux; 
and yet I spent thousands on him. I educated him for a 
gentleman ; sent him to one of the best colleges in the 
country, and worked more for him, by Jove ! than I ever 
did for myself. From the hour of his birth he has cost 
me money and trouble. When I was at Fort Adams, he 
suddenly left me, and for four years I never set eye upon 
him, until one day, here in this very town, he came into 
my room, and stood where you are standing now. He 
asked where his mother was ; and when I told him that 
she was lying in the churchyard, where his d — d conduct 
had sent her, he went away, and from that moment to 
this I have never seen him.” 

He paused a moment, and, starting to his feet, paced 
the room hurriedly. 

“But what shall he do here, Mr. Leslie? Go in the 
grocery business?” 

“See here; don’t come your romantic nonsense over 
me ! I have spent thirty years among Indians. I know 
’em as a hunter knows his hounds. I have starved with 
them in winter, and gorged like a snake in the sum- 
mer. I have seen ’em mowed down with smallpox and 
putrid fevers, and hunted from reservation to reservation 
like a lot of wolves. What is their life? When they are 
not fighting for food they are fighting for their lives, and 
they never sleep a night but what hunger or the fear of 
the enemy awakes them. If you are made as the tiger 
and the bear are made, why, Indian life will suit you. I 
have seen the best men among the tribes, and, beyond 
the ability to fight and hunt, there is not one that is 


268 


THE LOST MODEL. 


worth a peanut. They have no more soul than a shark ; 
and as for intellect, they ain’t got no more than a prairie- 
dog. Injuns; don’t talk to me about Injun*;! What I 
don’t know ain’t worth knowing, so far as they are 
concerned,” 

“It isn’t that, Mr. Leslie; but a prairie-dog is best on 
the prairie, and a buffalo on the plains ; for you could 
never work him in the plow. George was born out 
there. I know George. Inside he is like Bear Cloud ; 
only the clothes are different.” 

“Well, I don’t want to hear any more of it. You’ve 
had the run of my table and house as long as it pleased 
you, now speak well of the bridge that carried you over. 
Now hold on, and hear me out. You did me a good turn 
once, and I’ve tried as well as I know how to return it. 
If you have not had enough to eat, or haven’t done as it 
pleased you,jt is your fault, not mine. I never hampered 
you. The people gossiped over you, from the chief of 
police to the idiot who runs the orthodox church at the 
corner; but I held my peace; it was my business, not 
theirs. I’m not finding fault, I am simply telling things 
as they are. When I was your age, I could walk and ride 
the best of ’em down; and I’ve hunted a whole day for 
my dinner and then didn’t get it. I was not a good boy. 
There was no devilment done within ten miles but what 
I had a hand in it. There were no police in those days, 
and I’ve done things that to-day I shudder over. But 
I’m getting old; those who would remember my pranks 
as a young man have passed away. Besides, for nearly 
twenty years I did my duty like a man to the government 
in the Indian affairs; and there is not a reservation north 
of the Telekee River, nor a tribe of red-skins under treaty, 
— and if there is one there are twenty of ’em, — but what I 
planned and carried out. I never broke my word with 


RENATA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 


269 


I 

the red-skins, nor allowed others to do it. Nor did I 
cheat ’em out of a cent or a blanket. My name" is well 
known among ’em, from the Telekee to the Black Hills, 

I and that you know as well as I do. But the end and the 
commencement of a life are generally alike. The leaf of 
I the highest branch falls finally to the root. That is so 
with me. Here I shall die. I want my son here. This 
girl will marry some big fool, whom I must feed and 
, clothe, and watch, that he don’t rob me; she has no sense 
but her appetite and her desire for her dress. She’ll pick 
a man like herself, except that he will play the knave to 
her folly. I know that, and can’t help it. George must 
come back (beseechingly) ; I’ve enough for him to live on 
like a gentleman. He can go every year, if he wants to, •» 
I and hunt the legs off his hounds. But he must come here 
i and take charge of the household. He must marry. My 
name is an honorable one, by Jove ! and it sha’n’t go out 
like a torch in a pool!” 

The pair, as they stood in front of each other, were not 
unlike a boy watching the movements of a caged tiger. 
Circumstances hedged and bound old Leslie in, as com- 
pletely and thoroughly as the iron bars and wooden box 
did the royal Bengal tiger of the menagerie. The habits 
of their prey, its whereabouts, and the fatal certainty of 
finding it, with the equally unerring power of crushing it 
when caught, both man and beast possessed ; but the 
:• world closed where the passions ended. As it was im- 
possible for the tiger to understand or care for the song 
of the bird singing the progress of the moon, so with Les- 
' lie : there was the nieal of food and the riot of passion, 

^ and all the rest was like the other side of the moon, beyond 
S the horizon of either vision or imagination. Age was 
gradually dulling and silencing the interior excitement 
and desire, and the poverty of such a life was laid barer 


270 


THE LOST MODEL. 


every day. The desire for posterity was intensified by the 
fear of dying alone ; and to this last hope and aim he in- 
cessantly reverted with renewed energy and despair. And 
the heart of the young man softened with pity as he 
listened to the vehement cries for this, the vainest shadow 
of them all. 

Renata, too, at this moment, was feeling the impotence 
of her heart and head against the great current which was 
bearing away from her all that made life precious. The 
words of the old housekeeper had filled her with con- 
sternation. The often-hinted separation was to come at 
last; and, as she sat at her window, she noticed that the 
Indian tents were gone, and she caught sight of the squaws 
•wading off with the camp equipage upon their backs, and 
ahead of them was a troop of braves mounted upon ponies, 
and trotting away towards the woods and forests, that 
stretched far below the long purple line of the horizon. 
Like the moment which, it is said, some poor drowning 
mortal feels when death is upon him, and the previous 
years of misery and happiness pass before his troubled 
vision like the fall of a star, so through the remorseless 
memory of Renata pressed the scenes in which Parthee 
was the crowning figure of all. 

She saw him seated before the portfolios containing her 
father’s engravings, listening and watching with the in- 
tensity of a curious child ; she saw him moving among the 
plants and flowers of Mr. Leslie’s conservatory, with the 
caressing movement of a mother among her children ; and 
she saw him modeling at Ferris’s, and how, as if by magic, 
human faces and figures arose through the wet and shape- 
less clay from beneath the touch of his fingers. The old 
indefinable fear which she at first felt at his approach 
came over her again, and then the moment when she 
first encountered and had courage to look at the dark-blue 


J^ENATA FAYS HER TRIBUTE. 


271 


eyes that brought tears into her own ; how often she had 
longed for his approach, and when he came, how she 
would run and hide herself with shame ; and, at last, how 
the storm in her head and heart was stilled, and a strange, 
unknown joy made her at peace with the world. How 
everything had changed beneath this feeling ! how the 
trivial and the commonplace were banished, and a mantle 
of radiance covered yesterday’s ugly world, and even blind, 
busy, stupid Boshville was steeped in glory, as a cloud 
which overlooks the sunset ! 

It is true, there were chasms and abysses even in this 
beautiful land. One was remembered with painful dis- 
tinctness. Old Kreuzer, the pastor, had watched, with 
some alarm, the affection of his favorite pupil grow like a 
vine around this stranger from a distant and almost 
unknown land ; and in his warning to Renata had ob- 
jected, among other things, that Parthee was some Spanish 
or Indian foundling, that he had no education, nor 
certain livelihood or home, except what was furnished 
by the caprice of Mr. Leslie. “True,” Renata had 
answered, “I do not know who was his father or mother, 
nor whether he came from this or the other side of the 
Rocky Mountains ; and as for education, he has not, I 
think, fooled away four years at either Yale or Cambridge. 
As Redwood says, there are caterpillars who eat mulberry- 
leaves, and yet produce no silk ! No education 1 He 
speaks the truth, does no one hurt or harm, and when 
you are with him your thoughts are noble ; can education 
do more? Besides, Ferris says he has genius; and if 
money is the test of worth, he can when he likes earn 
plenty of it.” To one question only she could not give 
a satisfactory answer even to herself, and that was the 
degree of his love for her. In her soul he was the first 
and the last ; the intense longing for him, which increased 


272 


THE LOST MODEL. 


with his absence, was never satiated with his presence, 
and life itself had no value except as associated with him. 
But she had noticed, with the keen and unerring glance of 
love, that the things immediately around him engrossed 
him as utterly as a procession does the eyes of a boy ; and 
although the reproach was forgotten in the pleasure of his 
presence, it always returned with greater force at every 
renewed absence. When she looked at him earnestly 
and drank in the repose of his thoughtful face, the grace 
of his movements, the kind yet comprehensive glance of 
his eyes, and heard the musical intonation of his voice, 
the whirl in her senses made her heart ache with joy. 
And yet behind this flower of pleasure came the pain too 
intense to be borne, — the absence for years, who knows ? 
perhaps forever. It was a relief to the girl when the 
door-bell rang, and she descended to meet her fate. 

She hurried towards him with extended hand and 
averted face, for the sight of the hated hunter’s dress 
which he wore drew tears from her eyes, and as she 
leaned her head against his breast, she tried to hide the 
sobs that arose in her throat. 

‘^Why, everybody goes to the'war, Renata,” he said, 
playfully; “old Fink, the grocer, went yesterday, and he 
has got a pair of spurs on that will certainly kill his horse 
if he uses them. Isn’t Caspar away in the swamps, and 
papa cutting and bandaging in the daytime, and sleeping 
at night between the mud-sills of the cornfields ? And 
doesn’t old Leslie ride around the city on a pony, with a 
military cap on his head and a revolver in his pocket, 
and must I stay behind with the girls and the women?” 

She pulled his head down towards her and kissed it, 
and as she seated herself beside him, she said, earnestly, 
“ It isn’t that ! it isn’t that ! Listen : I have thought it 
all over. That you love me I know and feel ; that no 


/RENATA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 


273 


Other woman or girl will take you from me I am equally 
certain ; I am not jealous of you, — these vain women will 
never even like you ; oh, no, my fears are not in that 
direction. But you are going where you have spent 
many years of your youth, and what I fear is, that this 
residence of a few months will soon be forgotten in the 
delight of recovering your old life, whatever it may have 
been. I have not even a fear that the enemy will take 
your life; I have settled even that danger in my prayers. 
But it is on you, on you, my chief dread lies. Your hopes 
are not my hopes, nor your desires my desires. There is 
something hidden between us which even your smile 
cannot make me forget. And when 1 am no longer near 
you, when neither my hand, voige, or sight can reach 
you, God ! how shall I call you back?” and she clung to 
him as if in despair at the thought. 

What a world of fighting this is!” he answered, as he 
looked down soothingly on her face. Caspar fighting 
the enemy abroad, and Renata fighting shadows at 
home.” 

Prove to me that they are shadows, tell me, make me 
feel that you will come back, and I will not murmur; 
take away this terrible pain, and I will wait in patience 
and hope.” 

How many times must I say that I will come back, 
Renata? If you do not believe it when I say it once, it 
is useless to repeat it a thousand times. When the 
soldiers left not long ago, you gave them flowers, and 
yet they took your brother and your friends with them ; 
poor Bear Cloud goes away, and because he takes me you 
hate him, — and yet he goes to fight the enemy. Kiss 
me before another shadow comes, Renata. And here 
comes Kettle. This girl has no faith, Kettle ; what shall 
1 say to her?” 


24 


274 


THE LOST-MODEL. 


‘‘The doctor is coming, child; young Lee brought a 
message from him, and he says your papa will be here < 
before evening. What ails thee, child ?” 

“ My heart hurts me, Kettle.” 

“ Pfui, my child, you want a Schatz that is afraid to go 
to war, when the papa and brother are gone !” 

“Oh, if my heart was as wise and prudent as my 
head, dear Kettle, I should be delighted in this very 
moment. But it ain’t. Never mind. Let us give this 
warrior the parting cup; and bring us some of papa’s 
best.” 

“The coffee is all ready,” said the old housekeeper, 
softly, to the girl. 

“Coffee is for peace, you dear old goose, and wine 
for war; I could drink Lachrimi Christi now.” 

While the housekeeper* went for the wine, the girl 
pulled some leaves of a vine that grew up the wall and 
under the window-sill, and plaited them in the band of 
his beaver cap. 

“And you don’t remember how long you have been 
in this stupid place?” said Renata, repeating a question 
she had often asked him. “I do to an hour.” And 
after a pause, she added, “And your absence will be 
told by moments ; so remember, and do not throw away a 
minute, as it is mine.” 

“Old Ferris will not have cut his new group before I 
shall be here again ; when the birds come back, and the 
summer heat and the flowers, Renata, look beyond the 
hill, and you will see a band of beggars, dusty and 
weary, and you will find me among the last of them. I 
will come back ; but George Leslie never. They learnt 
him to eat the cacao bean far away in the South, and his 
life is lost. He sits beneath the trees, drunk with his 
thoughts, and cares for nothing but the glorious vision 


RENATA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 


275 

that glows in his heart and brain like a sunset. No, no, 
he never will come back.” 

‘‘You did not tell his father so, I hope?” 

“ No, no ; the care of his absence is much lighter than 
the trouble of his presence would be, for when together 
they quarreled bitterly. And in one respect he is like 
my pretty Renata, — he fights a shadow with great earnest- 
ness.” 

When the old housekeeper brought in the wine and 
crackers, they sat down to it like children ; Renata fill- 
ing his glass and listening to his commentary upon men 
and things in Boshville with an admiration veined with 
wonder, while the old housekeeper murmured a sotto-voce 
accompaniment upon the sacredness of a verlobung (en- 
gagement), and how the doctor must be informed of it 
upon his return, — which was neard, but not heeded, by 
the pair. 

“Ach, Gott! Renata,” said the old housekeeper, as 
the girl raised up the glass and let the wine touch her 
crimson lip, “enough is enough. Do not drink. What 
will the father say when he comes back this evening?” 

“ But, dear Kettle, I do not drink at all. I am simply 
wishing.” 

As Renata watched the careless and untrammeled man- 
ner in which he moved and talked, and noticed with the 
absorbing glance of love the open smile and his free, 
earnest look, a feeling of awe crept into her heart for the 
man beside her. It had often been her earnest prayer, of 
late, that the blind, selfish, gnawing pain in her heart 
might give way to the bright, kind feeling she had once 
felt when she used to look upon him and listen to him. 
She had once heard Redwood say that of all the sloughs 
of despair and labyrinths of darkness which the human 
heart was liable to fall into, the sensual weakness called 


276 


THE LOST MODEL. 


love presented the worst ; and the grief was sharpened 
by the thought that she unconsciously had fallen into this 
snare, and was being overwhelmed in the struggle. 

“What is this petty place and its brawls,” she thought, 
“ to him ? what even am I ? Briers and rushes that cling 
to his feet as he passes on his way. Who knows? per- 
haps the strongest feeling we can awaken in his heart is 
curiosity.” 

“And if you would only stay until to-morrow,” said 
Kettle, as she watched him getting ready to start; “the 
doctor will be back this evening, and he will be very much 
disappointed when he finds you are gone and he has not 
seen you. Renata, child, you must not go out ; the 
streets are dangerous. It is true, nearly all the men are 
gone ; but the worst of them, the loafers, always remain 
behind for mischief. I cannot go with you, because I 
must be here when the father comes, and you cannot, my 
child, return alone.” 

“Ach, dear Kettle, I will only go to the hill, and you 
can see me from the window; and if anybody comes to- 
wards me just scream at them. Kettle, and they will run 
fast enough.” 

The quiet air and manner with which this was said dis- 
armed, apparently, the fears of the old housekeeper; and 
she contented herself with insisting that Renata should 
go to the hill, but no farther, and she would watch at the 
door for her return. But no sooner had they left than, 
catching up hastily her bonnet and shawl, and carefully 
locking the front door, she hurried after them, keeping 
them constantly in sight. She hid herself behind an elm- 
tree as the pair ascended the hill. She saw him point to 
the plain and the forest, and stooping down, as if reason- 
ing with his companion, who clung to his arm. He bent 
his head over her for a moment, and then he hastily de- 


MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 277 

scended the other side, leaving the girl standing with 
clasped hands and bent head. When the outline of his 
figure had vanished, and the girl still stood there and 
gazed in the distance, the old housekeeper hurried to- 
wards her ; but, when she reached the spot, the girl was 
lying senseless upon the grass. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL IN PEACE THAN IN WAR. 

A FEW months afterwards, when Boshville had once 
more recovered its busy, commercial aspect, and trade 
went on as though the interim had been an ordinary holi- 
day, the doctor sat in the parlor of Mr. Leslie, and dis- 
cussed over a bottle of wine the wonderful events. 

‘‘What is the matter with her?” inquired Leslie, look- 
ing very earnestly at the doctor. 

“Oh,” said the doctor, “she is worn out with excite- 
ment ; nothing of a dangerous character. My absence 
and visiting the hospital, Denham’s condition, all put 
together broke down her nervous system \ but she will be 
well in a short time.” 

“Do you know what I think?” said Leslie, with a 
knowing look. 

“No.” 

“Well, sir, she is in love with that fellow Parthee; I 
would bet a horse on it.” 

“Pshaw!” said the doctor, laughing. “Renata has 
not got a bit of sentiment or romance in her nature. 
In the first place, she is too matter-of-fact to fall in love 

24* 


278 


THE LOST MODEL. 


at all, and, in the next place, he is not the kind of man 
to excite any such feeling in her heart. No, no, you are 
greatly mistaken, colonel.” 

“Oh, of course you know it all. It is very pleasant 
now and then to meet a man who not only has his own 
share of knowledge but everybody else’s; and I see that 
you are one of those fellows.” 

“ The very night we came back from the trenches I 
found her completely prostrated from the dreadful excite- 
ment. I had been away, as you know, ‘for several days ; 
the rumor came that Caspar was wounded, and every day 
there was the constant fear of the town being sacked ; 
besides, young Denham — and that, I suspect, was the real 
cause — was brought here in a fearful condition, not ex- 
pected to live: all these things put together, and the 
poor girl’s health fairly gave way. That is what it was, 
Leslie.” 

“ How is Harry Denham?” 

“Getting along famous, thanks to good nursing. If 
the war don’t close soon, he will join his regiment.” 

“They won’t need him any more now ; the bottom is 
out of the whole thing. I wonder that Mrs. Bovine let 
you take him into your house; she always had a weakness 
for him. What a*fly-up-the-creek that fool of a woman is, 
eh?” 

“You really do not tell me, Leslie, that the war will 
soon be over? Now, how can you know that?” 

“Yes, I do say it will soon be over. As to how I know 
it, why, I read the newspapers. The Southern States are 
occupied entirely, and there is but one where they have 
got anything large enough to be called an army, and we 
are closing that up every hour ; so I say again that the 
bottom is. out, my dear fellow.” 

“Thank God for it !” said the doctor, fervently, “ for 


MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 


279 


it is a terrible thing to think of, even, that in this age 
millions of people should be flying at each other’s throats, 
— brother against brother and father against son ! It is 
pretty much as I told your friend Mr. Maple, the clergy- 
man, not long ago ” 

You needn’t speak of that fellow as my friend,” in- 
terrupted Leslie, with some warmth. 

Why, he certainly was your friend ; and, as I heard, 
was engaged to your daughter Sallie.” And the doctor 
opened his blue eyes to their utmost. 

“Didn’t I tell you how we bowled that fellow out, 
eh? Well, it is not a long story. One day Captain 
Bemy and I were riding along the outposts, when we were 
out in the trenches yonder, expecting every hour to be 
attacked by Allen, who was not more than ten miles, at 
farthest, from the city, when we suddenly came across 
a carriage, dashing furiously towards our camp, and in it 
sat Maple and that old cat, Mrs. Denham. They stated 
they were out riding, on a visit to some friends in a little 
village, and that on their return they were captured by 
some of Allen’s outposts, who finally released them upon 
some excuse or another. Now, she was a notorious sym- 
pathizer with the South, and, if we had caught her alone, 
there would have been no doubt about the errand upon 
which she had gone ; for she certainly supplied the rebels 
with information. However, Maple was along, and as 
he, at least since the war, claimed to be on our side, in 
spite of the suspicious circumstances we let it pass. But 
you remember some of the prisoners of war kept at the 
Leedon camp were paroled, and among them was an old 
friend of mine, a Major Snelling, who came to see me, 
and stayed a few days at my house. Outside of war mat- 
ters one of the most dignified, sensible fellows in the 
world, but, of course, as crazy as a June-bug on the 


28 o 


THE LOST MODEL. 


troubles and rights of the South. Well, he came down 
to dinner with me one day, and, as we crossed the hall 
together, we came across my daughter Sallie and this fel- 
low Maple, to whom she had been fool enough to engage 
herself. I never interfered in the matter, for, as she was 
going to marry him, and not I, why, it was her lookout 
that she married a fellow of sense. Well, as I say, as we 
passed them the major stopped to speak to Sallie, when 
his eye caught Maple, hat in hand, ready to leave ; when, 
to our utter astonishment, the major, leaning forward to 
get a better look at him, said, ‘ Hallo, Frank Dubois, 
what are you doing here ?’ 

I laughed at this, and said (not suspecting anything), 
‘ Major, this gentleman is Theophilus Maple, of what I 
call the Oriental Orthodoxical Church.’ 

‘That must be his nom de guerre, then,’ said the ma- 
jor, still looking fixedly at him, ‘ for certainly, for the last 
seven years in New Orleans, he is known by the name of 
Dubois. What do you say, Frank?’ 

“ Maple was white around the mouth, and his black 
eyes quivered with suppressed excitement. 

“ ‘ My name is Maple, sir, and not Dubois, nor any 
other kind of boy, sir.’ 

“ ‘Your name is Frank Dubois, and you married Miss 
Steele ’ 

“ ‘ That’s a lie !’ was the rejoinder. 

“ Whew ! the major gave him a terrific blow upon the 
mouth and knocked him through my new glass hall door 
before I could interfere. He bled very badly at the 
mouth, but he made no attempt to retaliate, although he 
was bigger than his antagonist. I thought, perhaps, as 
he was a clergyman, he didn’t fight on account of his 
profession ; and, to tell the truth, I felt a little sorry for 
the poor devil, getting a crack like that, and either out 


MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 


281 


of cowardice, or on account of His calling, not being able 
to take it up. Of course Sallie howled, and wanted to 
fight the major herself. I pacified them, however, took 
the major in to dinner ; Maple, or Dubois, slunk out, and 
Sallie went to bed with the hysterics. The major apolo- 
gized, but he stuck to his story, and, what is more, cor- 
roborated it by saying that when Allen made his attempt 
to capture this city, he did it from information given by 
this fellow Maple, who, in reality, was a spy. Since then 
I forbade the fellow the house.” 

*^Is it possible?” said the doctor. *^And such a plau- 
sible, good-looking man ! Well, I never heard of anything 
like it!” 

“ Dangle tells me that his mode of operation was 
usually something like this. He would get a call to a new 
church, and would preach very good sermons, with prac- 
tical good sense in them. But, in the mean time, he 
would go for the women. The young ones he would be 
very alfectionate with, — patting their hands, pulling their 
ears, smoothing their hair, and, if the mother was present, 
kiss them in a fatherly manner. With the old ones he 
was always consulting. He never bought a shirt or a 
stocking without their advice, and they felt as proud of 
him as they did of a new clock of which they only kept 
the key. When the opportunity came, he would take one 
of the lambs and run, besides spoiling a few before he left. 
Yes, a thoroughbred rascal ! No doubt about it.” 

Mr. Leslie had lit another cigar, and was quietly 
listening to the doctor’s plans for building a new house, 
when an old darkey, who had been with him a number 
of years, came tumbling into the room with the exclama- 
tion, — 

“ Do you know whar Miss Sallie is ? Oh, golly I Oh, 
my I Do you know whar she is?” 


282 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“What do you mean, you idiot, you?” thundered 
Leslie. 

“Why, she went out at fo’ o’clock this mo’, and she 
never kim back ; and Lize says she gone after that white 
parson Maple, bekase he war here last night when all folks 
were abed, and she says ” 

Leslie got up quietly, pushed the servant aside, and 
went up-stairs to her room, the latter following his steps 
like a poodle-dog, saying nothing, but looking heaps of 
things. He came down, ordered out his horse, took a 
rifle out from behind the door, examined the cap on it, 
then slung it over his shoulder, and, when the horse was 
brought, he merely muttered, quietly, “You must excuse 
me. Doc, I mean business just now!” then mounted his 
horse and galloped away. The doctor followed him to 
the gate, and gazed in astonishment after the clattering 
hoofs and clouds of dust that followed and enveloped the 
impetuous rider. 

“Ten minutes ago I was envying that man,” solilo- 
quized the doctor, as he turned and meandered in the 
direction of his own house. “ I said to myself. Now, 
here is a man who can take the world easy, — rich, past 
the age of passion and frivolity, and one of the foremost 
citizens in the place; and, all at once, he is struck with 
trouble as with a thunderbolt! The weeds grow with 
such fearful rapidity that they drive us from the field. The 
very luxuriance of nature is our ruin.” And he put his 
hand in his bosom and walked slowly towards home, 
meditating a tremendous letter to Burgmiller, in which 
all these events should be told with the simplicity and 
stateliness of Tacitus. 

When the dbctor reached home, he found Colonel Den- 
ham stretched out upon the sofa in his parlor with a 
couple of pillows to support his shoulders and head. 


MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 283 

while Renata was close at hand ready to act as nurse or 
doctor. 

Denham was recovering rapidly from his wound. He 
looked much older than he really was, as though cares 
had come upon him faster than even time. His skin was 
bronzed with the sun, and the long marches and sick- 
ness had carried away all superfluous flesh, and given his 
features a gaunt, resolute look. 

Renata was fairer than ever, and the transparent white 
of her neck and forehead was slowly stealing away the 
rosy tint of her cheeks \ the light shadow or ring which 
surrounded her eyes and heightened their brightness was 
growing darker, and even in the tone of her voice there 
was a querulous plaint, as of one who was secretly ill at 
ease. 

The doctor had noticed the absence of her usual 
vivacity and good humor, and the grave air which had 
replaced it ; and he seemed to be thoroughly clear in his 
own mind as to the cause, and also as to the coming 
cure. 

I was away, Caspar was gone, and the devil was loose 
in a general way, and she who loves quiet, order, calm- 
ness, and affection, was entirely prostrated with the 
dreadful whirlwind of confusion.” At this point he re- 
membered that he had received a letter from the surgeon 
of the — th infantry, informing him that Caspar had been 
wounded in the hand, but that the wound was neither 
serious nor dangerous, and that he had been left at Win- 
chester, where he was being properly attended to. Not 
wishing to aggravate Renata’s trouble, he quietly slipped 
the letter in his desk and covered it over with some old 
papers and books. 

The doctor described what had just taken place at Les- 
lie’s, and how the old gentleman was hot in pursuit. 


284 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“ Now I can understand the hints which Mrs. Portia 
Bovine gave me about a certain couple which were to run 
off and get married, and that she was going to be dry-nurse 
to the affair.” 

Thank God that she is along ! ’ ’ said the doctor ; she 
may prevent that hot-headed man from doing somebody 
a mischief.” 

Why, yes,” said Denham, softly, to the doctor, ‘‘ if 
she was to put her foot out at him. You know it is whis- 
pered that no man can withstand the beauty of what the 
young ladies call her ^ limb.’ ” 

“Sallie Leslie,” said Renata, ‘Ms a very pretty girl, 
but she is stupid enough to make you commit suicide. It 
is true, she is very good-hearted ; but, do you know, papa, 
I am losing my faith in good-hearted people. They get 
you into so much trouble. At first they like you, because 
you say white is white and black is black ; then some foxy 
person comes along and tells them that black is white, 
and then they hate you for the same reason.” 

“Now, Denham,” said the doctor, “we must not tire 
you, and if this little girl talks too much, why, we must 
either send her away or take you up to your room.” 

“Thank you; conversation does not tire me; Miss 
Renata is here talking at my special request. I told her 
how a battle is fought, and now,” and he cast a shy look 
at the girl, “we have got as usual upon that favorite 
topic, the Indian.” 

“Renata takes after her father; she feels a sympathy 
with the oppressed ; and certainly there is no people so 
interesting as these Indians, in spite of what the frontier- 
men say of their treachery, dirt, and cruelty. I should 
not be surprised if we really commit more murders than 
they do.” And the doctor drew Renata’s head towards 
him and patted it affectionately. 


MR, MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 


285 


It was one of the traits in the doctor’s character, that 
when other people came to him and praised something 
he possessed, and to which hitherto he had paid but little 
attention, his vanity was so flattered that he endeavored 
to make up for his past indifference by extra zeal and at- 
tention. He had suddenly discovered that his neighbors 
considered his daughter handsome, and even hard-headed 
old Leslie took great interest in her ; and, as to admire her 
was to reflect credit upon him, he took a renewed interest 
in that from which familiarity had previously worn away 
nearly all the attraction. 

‘‘Who knows? by this time our quondam sculptor, 
floriculturist, and friend has returned to his buffalo and 
prairie-dog,” said Denham, ironically. 

“You are certainly mistaken in that,” answered Re- 
nata, quickly. “I saw it in the paper, only a day ago, 
that Bear Cloud and his party were to operate with General 
Indigo in Kansas. Now, surely an Indian soldier is as 
good as a white one.” 

“ Bear Cloud is on his r^ervation, Renata. That fellow 
has got his ammunition, and his flour, and stores for 
winter; and when you hear from him again, it will not be 
fighting the rebs, but waylaying and stripping some im- 
migrant train.” 

“ But Parthee was not an Indian, was he, papa?” 

“Yes, Miss Renata; a kind of half-breed, — Spanish 
blood probably on one side, red on the other, and which, 
by the by, my dear doctor, makes a very dangerous mix- 
ture, — idle, selfish, cruel, worthless as a civilization.” 

The girl’s face flushed with indignation. “No one 
on this earth was gentler or kinder than Parthee, Colonel 
Denham. There was not a cruel fibre in his body. 
Why, he was talented, — Mr. Ferris says a real unedu- 
cated genius, — and you know yourself he sympathized 

25 


286 


THE LOST MODEL. 


with everything around him. He is a thousand times 
better than though he had sprang from the mongrel civil- 
ization.” She paused in her vehemence, as she saw that 
the men exchanged looks, and added, with a smile, “I 
know you only say this to tease me, but the truth is the 
truth, after all, isn’t it, pa?” 

Old Leslie is right, after all, thought the doctor, and he 
insisted that they should leave the invalid to his repose, 
and he and Renata went into the doctor’s art-studio, 
which bore a somewhat deserted appearance. The pic- 
tures had been taken off the walls, and were now huddled 
in a corner, and the portfolios were lying about the 
room, wrapped up in brown muslin, and ready to be car- 
ried off at a moment’s notice. Every morning the doctor 
threatened to have that room put to rights, and every 
evening he regretted the non-fulfillment of the promise. 
And, as no one dared to touch it except in his presence, 
it was likely to remain for some time yet in its dusty con- 
dition. The doctor was sitting pondering over his dis- 
covery, when Mrs. Bovine burst in upon him in one of 
her confidential moods. 

What a time I’ve had !” she cried, as she threw her- 
self down upon the sofa, and, taking off her jaunty hat, 
she swung it back and forwards, keeping time with her 
voluble speech. Ever since five o’clock this morning 
have I been upon my feet, and Quincy knows no more 
about it than the dead. If I don’t go home soon he will 
send the bell-man after me.” \ 

“ Well,” said the doctor, they say you were with the | 

runaway couple; I hope Leslie did not overtake them.” I 

“Yes he did; and he would have killed the whole \ 
party if it had not been for me. Oh, what a time we’ve j 
had!” 

“ But they say,” interrupted the doctor, “ that he is a 


A//?. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 


287 


spy for the rebels, and that he has a wife in New Orleans, 
and that he is a rogue upon general principles \ and if 
that is the case, Mrs. Bovine, you did a great wrong to 
Miss Leslie in assisting her into so much trouble.” 

He is as much a spy as you are, doctor. And suppose 
he did have a wife in New Orleans, and she is dead, 
where is the wrong in him taking another? — a magnificent- 
looking fellow like him ; and as for his being a rogue, 
well, I presume that he is no worse than the rest of you 
men.” 

Then they are really married ?” 

‘‘Of course they are. We made the clerk of the 
county court get out of his bed and make out a license, 
then we hunted up a Methodist preacher, smuggled him 
into the hotel, the pair stood up, and the thing was all 
over. We had an elegant breakfast at the Tiptop House, 
— melons, peaches, oysters, beefsteak, and ice-cream, 
besides sparkling champagne and all kinds of fancy 
things. Then we rode to see the Insane Asylum and 
the City Infirmary, and had just a lovely time ; when who 
should comedown upon us like a thunderbolt from -the 
blue but old Leslie, with his pantaloons stuffed in his 
boots, and a rifle in his hand. Whew ! he looked like 
old scratch ! Poor Maple, he trembled all over like a 
leaf ; he is such a dreadfully nervous nature. But Sallie 
and I stood our ground. I told him they were married ; 
I showed him the license, and told him that Maple had 
received a ‘ call’ from a new church in that very town at 
a large salary. He was so mad he could not hear straight, 
but replied he had no doubt received a ‘call’ from the 
lower regions, and unless he explained certain things he 
would send him there. Then Theophilus took him up- 
stairs into a room and explained everything to him. 
This satisfied the old bear, and he came down an hour 


288 


THE LOST MODEL. 


afterwards, and ordered out his horse, looking daggers at 
me all the time. I said to him, says I, ‘ Mr. Leslie, I 
presume you found that Mr. Maple is a gentleman, and 
in every respect worthy of your daughter.’ He came 
towards me, and said, in his mean, brow-beating manner, 

wish to God he had run away with you!’ What do 
you think of that, doctor, for a piece of impudence? 
Run away with me, indeed ! The man isn’t made that 
can ^ run away with me. ’ ’ ’ And she put out her little foot 
and examined it with pleasure and pride. 

The doctor made no answer, for he was secretly afraid 
of the enterprising Portia, and he sighed with relief as 
she, a few minutes later, hurried out to see if her Quincy 
had returned from the hospital. 

“If there was another woman like that in this town, I 
should emigrate to some Indian reservation I” muttered 
the doctor. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE SCALES OF JUSTICE HELD BY THE BEAM. 

“ I HAVE never in my life witnessed a trial in a court of 
justice,” said the doctor, apologetically, to his daughter, 
who was opposing very vehemently his attendance in 
court during the trial of Leonard, which was announced 
to commence that very morning. “Besides, I have been 
summoned as a witness, and although it may be painful 
to my feelings, it is still a matter of necessity.” 

“And if twelve loafers are to be the judges, papa, you 
can tell what the judgment will be. We have lost Red- 
wood ; there is no power can give him back to us. That 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 289 

even his murderer should be punished is, after all, a poor 
satisfaction.” 

The doctor having already made up his mind to be 
there, did not care to continue the discussion, but con- 
tented himself with remarking, ‘‘If the scale of justice 
is held by the ring, and not by the tongue or beam, there 
can be no douSt about the result, my daughter.” 

The announcement that the trial of Leonard for the 
murder of Redwood was about to take place had created 
a great deal of excitement among the citizens of Bosh- 
ville; first, on account of the prominent positions held by 
the parties ; secondly, on account of the eminent counsel 
engaged to defend the prisoner ; and thirdly, the public 
interest which always centres in a cause cHebre. Only a 
few years b^ck, it was the custom, whenever a legal dis- 
pute was being submitted to a court and jury, and counsel 
distinguished for their oratorical powers were engaged 
either to prosecute or defend, for the mayor to have the 
town-bell rung, and call the citizens out, as though for a 
fire or the celebration of the Fourth of July, so that all 
could enjoy what was esteemed as the highest intellectual 
treat. The papers published the following list of eminent 
legal minds who were engaged as counsel for the prisoner: 
Ex- Judges Wabash and Jerkem, Colonel Snag, Major 
Prodd, and Ex-Secretary Diddlem, while justice and the 
Commonwealth were to be vindicated by the County 
Prosecutor, Sam Bullet, and Ex -Senator Washington 
Jones, a spread-eagle politician of the old school. Rather 
an unequal match, as the “Sporting News” observed; 
and it recommended its subscribers to bet on the defense. 

There certainly had been great skill manifested in the 
selection of counsel to defend the prisoner, for, like the 
various members of an army, each one had especial de- 
fensive and destructive powers. Wabash was known for 
25 * 


290 


THE LOST MODEL. 


his technical casuistry, and it was boasted that not an 
axiom of Euclid but what the analytical judge could 
prove to be an absurdity, if his legal mind once ran foul 
of it ; Major Prodd, or the gallant Prodd, as he was known 
at the bar, was famous for smuggling into cases improper 
testimony, and doing it with the corrugated brow of 
defiance; while Jerkem, with his bloodless face and 
glaring eyes, was the terror of witnesses. No man, 
woman, or child could withstand the cross-examination of 
Jerkem ; he could cross-examine a mathematician on the 
proposition that two and two make four, until the latter 
would admit there was neither truth nor sense in it. Snag 
and Diddlem were powerful men before a jury ; they 
told funny anecdotes, they bawled, declaimed, and went 
through a pantomime performance which would have 
done honor to the clown of a circus. 

To quote once more from the “Sporting News,” the 
arrangements for the coming battle had been made with 
consummate tact and skill on the part of the defendant, 
and it really looked as though they were likely to win 
“the inning.” For, however honest and capable the 
gentlemen were who represented the State on this occa- 
sion, they were certainly outnumbered by their oppo- 
nents. 

On the day of the trial, and in fact until its close, the 
court-room, corridors, and hall were crowded with people, 
who had assembled to hear the lewd things which it was 
expected the witnesses would tell, the funny things which 
Snag — Georgey Snag — would say to the jury, the impu- 
dent remarks which Wabash or Prodd would say to the 
court, and the grandiloquent orations which Bullet and 
Diddlem would deliver at the end of the trial. 

Our friend the doctor, for really the first time in his 
life, had galloped around and visited all his patients in a 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


291 


hurry that morning, and when he stopped in front of the 
court-house, Phil was in a lather from the speed. 

“You see,” said the doctor, apologetically, to himself, 
“there can be no doubt that it was one of the foulest 
murders ever committed, and the fellow ought to be pun- 
ished ; and I should neglect my duty as a citizen, much 
less as a friend, if I did not see that poor Redwood was 
vindicated. Not for vengeance’ sake, God forgive me. I 
bear no man malice ; but right is right, and must prevail 
against wrong and injustice.” He paused. “What an 
important and responsible thing it must be to sit in judg- 
ment on a man’s life, to pass upon a fellow-being’s deeds 
like the Almighty will do some day, — it fills me with awe 
to think of it !” 

Here the press of people swarming up the steps and 
through the passages as they streamed into the central 
rotunda, or criminal court, put a stop to the doctor’s 
meditations, and he followed on in silence. And as it is 
fit that the reader should know how a trial for murder 
takes place in Boshville, how great lawyers speak of it 
and defend it, how that divine dozen called a jury pass 
upon it, and how the court looks down and regulates it, 
we will follow the doctor ; for, who knows ? should this 
frail record remain, it may interest a future antiquary to 
know how justice was administered in an age of general 
enlightenment, culture, and freedom. 

The doctor found the rotunda packed with people out- 
side of the iron railing which separated the laity from 
the legal brethren ; and inside the bar was as fully crowded 
with lawyers, witnesses, and privileged lookers-on as the 
outside space was with loungers^ ^ He walked several 
times around the wall of backs which shut bar and bench 
effectually from his sight, except when he stood on tip- 
toe ; he could see the newspaper which was held by some 


292 


THE LOST MODEL. 


person on the bench where the legal majesty of justice 
sat, and which turned out to be his honor the judge. He 
had made the round of the room once or twice, and was 
thinking of going away in despair, when the sheriff espied 
him, beckoned to him, pushed him through the crowd, 
and gave him a seat at the table where counsel for the 
prosecution were seated. Dr. Knappe found a good 
many acquaintances inside the bar, and his appearance 
caused quite a buzz among the bystanders; the noise 
attracted the attention of the judge, who put down the 
newspaper, and said, sharply, ‘‘Now, then ! make a little 
more noise, and I’ll turn you all out into the street.” 

He was a very young man, — he looked about nineteen 
years old, — with a bald head, a hook-nose, and a pair of 
large black eyes. He then rapped upon the bench, told 
the sheriff to call the jury, and told the bystanders to be 
careful. At this the counsel for the defense all leaped 
to their feet, and after running around the table, whisper- 
ing to each other, and shaking their heads at the deputy 
sheriff, who was calling out the list of names, they finally 
opened the campaign. Wabash stopped the calling of 
the jury, and insisted the court should decide the motion 
to quash the indictment. When told by the court to go 
on and “say his say,” he gave twenty-five reasons, or 
grounds, why this legal document called an indictment, 
and which purported to set forth in legal terms the offense 
which Leonard had committed, was unfit to live, and 
ought to be broken into pieces. One objection was, that 
one of the grand-jurors who found the bill was summoned 
by the name of John Henry ; whereas, the juror who at- * 
tended and signed the^ecord spelled his name Henerey, 
— two ^’s more than the law allowed. Then again, the 
foreman who signed the bill wrote his name as John 
Cicero Brown, whereas, upon the venire^ his"^name was 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


293 


John C. Brown. The learned Wabash said that this was 
monstrous, and he quoted fifty cases to prove that middle 
names were unknown to the law, and if unknown to the 
law they were illegal; and the presence of such a glaring,’ 
protuberating illegality destroyed the instrument upon 
which it was written. 

But the piece de rhistance^ and over which counsel made 
a determined fight for the balance of that day, was the 
clause of the indictment which set forth that the defend- 
ant “unlawfully and feloniously shot the deceased with 
a pistol.” Over this unfortunate sentence the counsel 
on both sides wrangled and fought for hours. “Why,” 
said Wabash, with thunder in his voice and lightning in 
his eyes, “such a foolish sentence as thatvfoul^ vitiate 
an indictment, and always has vitiated it, from the time 
of Richard the First of England, down to — down to — 
well, to Judge Lynch. You can’t shoot a man with a 
pistol. The man don’t live that can shoot another with 
a pistol. You can only do it with gunpowder, ball, a 
percussion-cap, and a pistol. My. client is entitled to 
know beforehand what charge he is to meet. He came 
here on this solemn occasion to defend himself from a 
charge — of what? Why, sir, he came, they came, we 
came, here to defend ourselves from the charge of killing 
a man, by means of a pistol loaded with gunpowder and 
ball, and exploded by a percussion-cap, struck by a trig- 
ger, pulled by the index-finger of the right hand, while 
pointed in the direction of the body of the deceased, 
which stopped the flying ball as aforesaid. That is what 
we came to defend, and that is what the indictment ought 
to have set forth, — yes, and that is what it shall set forth 
before my client can be put upon trial for his life. Shoot 
a man with a pistol ! Why, the thing was not within the 
reach of probable possibilities ! It could not be done. 


294 


THE 10 ST MODEL. 


It was absurd, ridiculous ! The constitution forbade it ! 
The people forbade it. {sotto-voce.') The laws of God 
and man forbade it !” 

And as he roared and shook his hair, he demanded that 
the court should crush the monstrous proposition, and 
with a terrific blow upon the table with his fist, and a 
glare of defiance, he sat down. 

Here Washington Jones slowly rose to his feet, and 
opened his mouth (one of the largest in the State), pre- 
paratory to giving a terrific counter-roar, when the judge 
interrupted the further discussion : ‘‘I don’t want to hear 
any more about it. We must have some sense about 
these things. Old indictments used to charge a man 
with killing another by beating him with a brick, — to 
wit, with an iron poker, — and killing him with a gunshot 
wound from a pistol, and all that sort of thing. Utter 
nonsense, you know ; but in those days, and among those 
big-wigged fellows, it was considered law. All that is 
passed away. I think the indictment is good, and if you 
have no more objections to it, why, Mr. Sheriff, you will 
call the jury.” This called forth a bitter^ discussion all 
around ; and for an hour at least four lawyers were speak- 
ing at one time, and the court to end the hubbub adjourned 
the court until the following day at ten o’clock. 

‘‘Renata,” said the doctor that evening, as he sat and 
cogitated over the incidents of the trial, “if I say John 
shot and killed a man with a pistol, what do I mean?” 

“ Oh, papa, what a question ! It means that John is a 
bad man, and he has committed murder.” 

“Yes, daughter, that is true. But how? The modus 
operandi, my child ?” 

. “ How? Why, he shot him dead with a pistol !” 

“ Well, Renata, the most learned lawyer in the State, 
and the profoundest thinker at the Boshville bar, says that 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


295 


it is impossible. He also says, that if Smith throws Rob- 
inson out of window, — out of a third- or fourth-story 
window, — and I, in the second story, lean out to catch 
him, and if in doing so my pistol falls out of my pocket 
and hits the falling Robinson on the head before the afore- 
said reaches the ground, and if ” 

“ Ach, Gott ! papa, don’t tell me that dummes zeug 
(stupid nonsense), and I feel already so sick at my 
stomach !” 

“I wonder if Colonel Denham is still up,” said the 
doctor ; and a moment after, Renata heard the two men 
discussing the matter quite loudly. 

The next morning, when the doctor reached the court, 
the judge was giving a very lengthy opinion about some 
matter or another, to which the doctor listened with 
breathless ^tention ; but he afterwards stated that it was 
like listening for burglars at night. You heard the vil- 
lainous centre-bit” bore a hole in your door; you heard 
the burglars crawl through and walk into your room, go 
to your bureau and grab your watch ; and when you leaped 
out of bed and lit the gas, the only thing you found was 
the cat looking for a soft place on the sofa, — there was 
so little relation between the understanding and sound 
sometimes. 

The doctor had not left home more that an hour this 
morning, when, as Renata was sweeping the hall, Mr. 
Leslie on horseback stopped at the door, and, touching 
his hat, beckoned her towards him. 

“ Good-morning, Miss Renata ; busy with the broom as 
usual ?” 

“ Everything is so dreadful dirty in the city, Mr. Les- 
lie, one has to have a broom or a dusting-brush in one’s 
hand all day. Did you want to see papa?” 

“ Where is he ?” 


296 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I am afraid he is up at the court-house ; he says he is 
to be a witness.” 

He knows nothing but what he has been told. You 
tell him what I say. That is no place for him. If he has 
got any time to spare, let him make out his bills, for to my 
certain knowledge he has not made one out for ten years. 
What the devil is he wasting his time there for, instead of 
minding his own business!” And the old man rode off, 
and made the horse leap beneath him in his anger. 

Renata was ready that afternoon, when the doctor was 
sitting at the table, to give him a lecture about spending 
his time at the court-house, where all the loafers of the 
city usually congregated, but the doctor wore such a sad 
and perplexed look that she could not find it in her heart 
to reproach him, and she saved it for a more propitious 
moment. 

The cause of the doctor’s perplexity arose from what 
the newspapers termed a very exciting phase in the trial, — 
the empanneling of the jury. This occupied about a week, 
and before a fit dozen could be selected a hundred and 
fifty were summoned, examined, and worried, either by 
the counsel for the defense or the prosecution. The 
^‘Sporting News” described Wabash and Prodd as roar- 
ing and curveting all over the court-room, like stallions 
at a horse-fair. They challenged every juror ; and they 
insisted that if any person had read an account of the 
homicide, or had been told it by a neighbor, or had even 
been present when a newspaper statement of the affair had 
been discussed, that person was unfit to sit in the place of 
judgment allotted to jurors. ‘‘The jury,” said Snagg, 
“ is our precious palladium of liberty. We forced it at 
the sword’s point from King John \ and it is the only 
bulwark which shuts in our glorious freedom from the 
effete despotisms of Europe.” And he declared, and 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE, 


297 

called God to witness, that he was ready that moment to 
die for the right of trial by jury. Finally, twelve men were 
found who were willing to be considered sufficiently stupid 
and ignorant and qualified to sit on a jury, when a man 
was being tried for his life. 

Renata,” said the doctor, finally, after he had turned 
the matter over in his mind for several days, ‘^what is 
justice?” 

Well, papa, Mr. Leslie says that there would be more 
justice in your staying away from that dreadful court- 
house, and attending to your books and patients, than in 
going there day after day, making yourself unhappy, and 
then, in the evening, worrying my life out about it.” 

The doctor looked over his spectacles at the pale, 
earnest face, and said, slowly, — 

‘'But, my dear child, it is my duty to see that justice 
is done our poor murdered friend.” 

“If they intended to do justice,” persisted the girl, 
“ they would not call in twelve loafers to say what shall 
^be done. Never mind, papa, let them alone. God will 
be judge some day, and then the big mouths will be 
silent.” 

The doctor agreed with his daughter that, after all, he 
had better stay away from the court ; and yet, the very 
next day after taking the usual round of his patients, he 
tied up his horse in front of the county buildings and 
joined the crowd that filled the court-room, and watched 
the interesting events which always take place in a mur- 
der trial. 

As the plan of the defensive campaign opened, the 
public interest increased. The stage effects, half-lights, 
and positions had evidently been as much studied and 
prearranged as a new piece at the theatre ; and many of 
the scenes might have been photographed, so picturesque 

26 


298 


THE LOST MODEL. 


and dramatic were the tableaux. The defendant, Leonard, 
in an elegant suit of black, sat by his counsel, with two 
sisters, fashionably attired, and looking quite pretty from 
beneath their veils, seated just behind him \ and, when- 
ever allusions were made to the prisoner’s ‘‘boyhood,” 
or “ former happy home,” they sobbed quite audibly in 
lace-trimmed handkerchiefs. 

The loud Wabash kept up a running tilt of insults and 
comments upon the counsel and the witnesses for the 
prosecution. He insisted that both had received “ blood- 
money,” and were earning their pay. He had repeated 
this loudly once or twice, when Bullet, the prosecutor, 
went over to him, and said, sotto-voce , — 

“Judge, if you repeat that sentence again in my hear- 
ing, I will ask the court to adjourn while I thrash the life 
out of you. Now, do it, if you dare !” 

The judge snorted and glared, but he took care not to 
repeat the offensive phrase. 

Jerkem cross-examined the witnesses, and a terrible 
ordeal it was. He did it with a fierceness and venom 
that filled the spectators with admiration and the doctor 
with sorrow. What the “Sporting News” characterized 
as the “first hit or knock-down for the defense” was per- 
formed by Jerkem. It fell out in this way. 

A boy had testified that he had found, or had seen, the 
body of the murdered man, and identified it as Red- 
wood’s; that he went for the doctor, and stayed so late 
there that night fell, and that he went home by moonlight. 

Jerkem cross-examined him very severely as to the 
moonlight, — if he saw the moon, and where he saw it. 
He got out the calendar, and asked the boy, in a voice of 
thunder, if the moon was in the full, or half, br quarter, 
or how, — if there were clouds that night in the sky. The 
boy, who had been getting more and more confused, stam- 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


299 


mered out that there were lots of clouds that night in the 
sky, — he was sure of it, — he was ready to swear it ; he 
did swear it. 

‘‘Well, sir,” said Jerkem, and he fixed his right eye 
with a deadly glare upon the scared witness, will you 
swear on your oath whether the clouds were above or be- 
low the moon, — whether the moon was on this side or on 
the other side of the clouds. Now, take care, sir !” 

“ I will,” said the boy. And he burst into tears. “ I 
will ; and the moon was on this side of the clouds ; for I 
seed it; yes, sir, it was — it was — below clouds, — it 
was ! ’ ’ 

At this statement all the counsel leaped to their feet, 
and complimented Jerkem upon the hit he had made. 
Prodd arranged his lock of hair over his forehead, and, 
with his eyebrows drawn up like the iron ridge on the 
back of an alligator, leaned over, whispered, and shook 
hands with the prisoner. The lawyers smiled and nodded 
over it ; the people outside the bar repeated and explained 
it to each other ; the reporters wrote it down hot ; the 
judge shook his head at it ; and the only persons in the 
room who did not seem to understand it were the wit- 
ness, who was drying his eyes on his coat-sleeves, and the 
doctor, whose heart ached to go to the boy and console 
him. 

“ I thought,” said the doctor to his neighbor, — a young 
lawyer, who was taking the case in by absorption, and 
who seemed to enjoy it very much, — “I thought the 
special aim and object of a cross-examination was to test 
the truth of the witnesses’ statements. In other words, 
that it is a legal way or method of finding out the truth.” 

His neighbor smiled at the doctor’s innocence. “Lord 
bless you, no, sir ; it is to break a fellow down, — confuse 
the witness, muddle him, addle his brains, make him say 


300 


THE LOST MODEL. 


two and two are five, and swear it ; thaf s a cross-exam- 
ination.” 

The next great hit in this legal drama was the cross- 
examination of Doctor Wooley by the remorseless Jerkem. 
The little “doctor had told, on his leading examination, 
how, one evening, he was sitting enjoying the otium cum 
dignitate in his garden, when a messenger came and took 
him to the grove, where he found Redwood, mortally 
wounded. He told how he cut open the coat, vest, and 
shirt of the wounded man, and saw a hole beneath the 
shoulder-blade. Not havingTis instruments with him, he 
probed the wound with his finger, and felt the orifice 
made by the ball in the man’s liver. He also described 
the wound in the head, and how the man died, — speech- 
less and insensible. The story was very affecting, es- 
pecially when he described the veiled woman that knelt, 
holding the dead man’s hand, tearless and voiceless, — the 
dread picture of despair. One heard the hard breathing 
of the people outside of the bar, and the prisoner and 
his party all held their heads down. But now comes the 
cross-examination for the defense, and Jerkem’s bloodless 
face is turned toward the witness. Slowly and impressively 
he led the little doctor over the course he had just passed, 
up to the point where he examined the wound of the 
dying man, when the following “hit” was made : 

“You then put your finger, doctor ” 

“As I stated, into the wound. I used my finger as a 
probe.” 

“Exactly; and then you felt a hole in what ?” 

“ I discovered that the ball had passed through the 
man’s liver.” 

“Which finger did you use, doctor?” 

“ This one.” Holding up the index-finger of the right 
hand. 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE, 


301 


Jerkem rose up, and made a critical examination of the 
finger. The digit was tolerable thick, somewhat dirty, 
and had rather a long nail, with a black border; all of 
which Jerkem saw with delight, and the little doctor dis- 
covered with fear and trembling. 

‘‘You jammed, then, this dirty-looking lance through 
the wounded man’s liver and lungs, eh ?” 

“ No, sir ; I say, that, not having my instruments with 
me, I ” 

“No equivocation, sir! Remember, you are under 
oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but 
the truth, as you shall answer to God ! Now, sir, you said 
you poked, jerked, and pushed this club of yours, which 
you call a finger, through the prostrate man’s liver. Do 
you dare to deny it, sir?’’ 

“ I — I — don’t deny anything. If the Court please, I — 
want to tell the truth. All I said was, and I appeal to 
your Honor’s notes, that I felt the orifice in the man’s 
liver with the point of my finger.’’ 

Here Jerkem leaped to his feet. “ Was that immense 
cheese-knife and that mountain of dirt on your finger 
when you thrust it through the man’s liver ? But stop! 
the jury must see for themselves the dreadful instrument of 
torture.” And he unceremoniously pulled the little doctor 
off the witness-stand towards the jury. The counsel for 
the State here rushed to the rescue. A very pretty scene 
followed : Jerkem pulling like a mule at the arm of the 
witness, the prosecutor holding the witness back, while 
the Court roared and struck on the bench for silence, 
order, and “stand down.” 

The combatants stopped scuffling and commenced 
arguing the point. Wabash shook his mane like a lion, 
and defied the Court to forbid the jury from examining 
the instrument which caused the death of Redwood. The 

26* 


302 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Court, after much deliberation and consultation of authori- 
ties, decided that the sheriff should take the witness by 
the arm and exhibit the finger in question to the jury, 
but that counsel should make no comment while he did 
so ; and accordingly the little doctor was led, pale and 
trembling, up and down before the jury, with his forefinger 
held out, amid the sneers of the counsel for the defense, 
the smiles of the spectators, and the pity of the prisoner 
and his party. This was felt to be the second great hit 
for the defense, or, as the newspapers expressed it, the 
defense had won the second inning. There was an in- 
termission of five minutes, during which the prisoner 
again complimented his counsel, the Court took a drink 
of ice-water, and stretched its short legs in the corridor, 
and many of the bystanders rushed to the neighboring 
veranda and refreshed themselves with lager beer and 
sandwiches; while the doctor, the unfortunate witness, 
walked out of the court-room feeling like an outcast of 
the human race. 

The apex of legal ingenuity and juridical invention 
was reached on the part of the defense when they called 
witnesses to prove the insanity of Leonard. Insanity has 
long been a favorite card with the legal profession ; and 
certainly, to judge from its success, it deserves the high trust 
which great criminal lawyers repose upon it. When 
breaking down the character of the witnesses for the prose- 
cution, or when even an alibi fails to save the client from 
a verdict of guilty, the plea of insanity has been known 
to save him harmless, although the proof of the crime was 
as palpable as the pyramids of Egypt. Insanity was the 
trump card of the wary Wabash and the ‘‘irresistible” 
“ Georgey,” and very skillfully it was played. The father 
and mother testified that from childhood he had been sub- 
ject to fits of insanity; and that his uncle by the mother’s 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


303 


side had lately died of delirium tremens. When a baby 
of six months he had refused his mother’s milk. At ten 
years he threw a spade at his father, and came near killing 
him. When only fifteen he stole his sister’s purse and ran 
away with a traveling circus. At eighteen he ran off with 
his mother’s cook, and what has become of her is a secret 
to this day. He was offered the position of city treasurer 
once and refused it. (When this fact came out, the 
people gaped at the prisoner in incredulous astonishment.) 
“Not since the republic was founded was there a man,” 
cried the eloquent Prodd, “so fundamentally and con- 
stitutionally mad as to refuse the office of treasurer; it 
made one’s blood run cold to think of it.” 

The Court inquired the date of that transaction, and 
carefully wrote it down. Witnesses were also called to 
prove the love and devotion of the defendant to his wife ; 
his care, tenderness, and solicitude for her, and, whenever 
and wherever she was concerned, his utter abnegation of 
himself. The same witnesses told how, the night before the 
homicide, he had cried, raved, and sobbed over the dis- 
covery of his wife’s falseness to her marriage vows, and 
that he was so convulsed in agony that it took four men 
to hold him still ; in short, that he was for a long time a 
howling, kicking, raving maniac. But it was also brought 
out upon cross-examination that the sobbing and con- 
vulsions of Leonard took place more than a week before 
the homicide, and that it was connected with a gambling 
debt. They also unwillingly admitted that, for several 
days immediately preceding the homicide, he was taciturn 
and moody; that he had practiced pistol-shooting in his 
own garden ; that he had watched his wife, and paid de- 
tectives to track her whenever she went out ; and that on 
the day of the killing he had announced his departure 
for Lexington, and had exhibited great cheerfulness and 


304 


THE LOST MODEL. 


affection to his wife when leaving. The prosecution also 
proved in rebuttal that, several years before this event, 
Leonard had known of his wife’s love for Redwood, and 
had willingly and purposely winked at it; saying once in 
his cups, that what his eyes did not see his heart would 
not grieve over ; and that if money could not bribe Red- 
wood to be in his service, he knew of something that 
would do it at less cost. 

At last it was announced that the case would be argued 
to the jury ; and to please the public, and in compliance 
with the repeated demands of the newspapers, justice 
carried its stool and scales over to the large rotunda used 
for political meetings, and where at least five thousand 
persons could listen and appreciate the eloquence of the 
Boshville bar. The arguments and orations of the counsel 
in this cause celebre were long remembered in Boshville, 
and the book which contained and published the forensic 
eloquence delivered on that occasion was considered to 
contain speeches which outrivaled in solidity and value 
the orations of Pericles and Cicero. And yet the gentle 
reader will not be astonished if I tell him that as I glanced 
over the well-thumbed book containing these glittering 
jewels, I found them as tedious as a newspaper a month 
old. No doubt when these words fell living from the lips 
and hot breath of Wabash, Prodd, and the smiling, cunning 
^^Georgey,” they were potent, interesting, and sensa- 
tional ; but to-day, they are like the rags and tarnished 
tinsel of a masquerade dress, rotten in web, unmeaning in 
shape, and filthy from the dirt of time; for what can be 
more repulsive to one’s imagination than even a legal 
trick, when withered from age? There were three orations 
delivered for the defense, and two for the prosecution ; 
the latter were forcible, clear, and plain ; but the very cer- 
tainty and consistency of the proof injured the speakers. 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


305 


Truth is not mighty and does not prevail, written au- 
thority to the contrary notwithstanding. The liars die 
out sometimes, and the fraud is forgotten, but experience 
teaches that a lie is the most powerful invention of the 
human mind. There are lies eighteen hundred years old, 
and still in vigor ; yes, there are lies six thousand years 
old, and yet in their infancy ; and what is worse, they will 
live and only go out with the last human brain ; they 
came in with the human race, and they will stay as long 
as it stays. 

When the prosecutor told the story of the murder, the 
spectators were cold and the jury weary of what they had 
heard a thousand times; but when the counsel for the 
defense let off their fireworks, a very different effect fol- 
lowed. And here came into play the third great hit of 
the defensive campaign. Prodd took a very bold stand ; 
he denied that Redwood was dead; he insisted that the 
corpus delicti not been proved. The doctor did not 
know the name of the man whom he found dying in the 
grove; the coroner did not know him; and the learned 
doctor who had identified his friend was a notorious wool- 
gatherer, a man who always mistook fancy for fact. Where 
was Redwood? he might be in the court-room, listening 
to the trial of a man for his murder ; and here the blatant 
counsel turned round, and in his loud, brassy voice, called 
three times the murdered man by his name, and bade him 
appear. The good doctor’s blood ran cold at this part 
of the farce, and he held down his head to hide his tears. 

Then came the irresistible ‘‘Georgey,” who told them 
anecdotes and jokes, which very much relieved the tedium 
of listening hour after hour to all kinds of arguments; he 
even interspersed his oration with a little ventriloquism 
and pantomime, which put everybody in a good humor. 
Then he became suddenly serious, and told them, with a 


3o6 


THE LOST MODEL. 


long face and in a very confidential manner, that the man 
who killed Redwood was the doctor who probed the 
wound with his forefinger. He spoke of a man’s liver as 
being the fly-wheel of his system, and that in this case an 
ignorant quack had thrust a huge forefinger, armed with 
a fearful nail, which, after tearing and jagging its way 
through the man’s system, arrested the movement of the 
^‘fly-wheel,” and the man died. He felt sorry for the 
quack’s family and for his feelings, but truth was too 
sacred to be sacrificed even in a trial for murder. And 
he closed by pointing out the man who had really killed 
Redwood. 

But the grand show-piece was let off by Wabash. He 
commenced in a whisper, leaning, as he spoke, against 
the table for support. He was sick ; his nerves were pros- 
trated ; he had not slept since the trial began ; he begged 
them to have patience with him, and to give him their 
earnest attention. All this was said in a faint, trembling 
voice, so that the jury had to stretch out their necks to 
hear it ; and yet before he had spoken an hour he roared 
so loud and struck the table with his fist so violently that 
you could have heard him a mile off. In fact, he raged and 
ranted until the cobwebs fell from the rafters, and the 
windows shook with the echo. He took the bold and 
decisive stand that Leonard shot Redwood, but that the 
deed was justifiable,-and that Leonard was neither respon- 
sible to God or man for what he had done. He gave 
the jury a biography of Leonard. Leonard’s great-grand- 
mother fell out of window in an epileptic fit and was killed. 
This was the key-note of Leonard’s life. Insanity ran 
through it like a river through a plain. Hereditary in- 
sanity was a demon that crouched in Leonard’s heart, 
which every excitement threw to the surface, and then 
poor Leonard did fearful things. Under the influence of 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE, 


307 


this demon, when a boy, he had put a dead cat in the 
schoolmaster’s well; he had stolen his father’s watch ; and 
when a man, it had him made refuse an honorable and 
lucrative office and run off with his father’s cook. Ordi- 
nary excitements threw him off his centre, and extraordi- 
nary ones turned him inside out. He described, in tender 
and pathetic terms, Leonard’s courtship, the beauty of 
his wife, her frailty, and her loving husband’s devotion. 
As many of the jurors had never seen the fair Mrs. 
Leonard, he described her for their benefit. He dwelt 
unctuously upon her small feet, her delicate, expressive 
features, her transparent complexion, the luxuriance of 
her hair, her slender waist, and the ravishing grace of her 
walk. Her voice was like the soul of music, and the 
gleam of her eyes a glance into heaven. Then he asked 
each juror to fancy himself the lawful possessor — the hus- 
band — of such a beauty, and that then an interloper, a 
fellow whom they had saved from starvation, should come 
along and carry off such a prize, what would they do as 
men? The jurors did not answer, but the way twelve 
mouths suddenly were closed and set, gave the counsel a 
very encouraging sign. Then he described the discovery 
of Leonard, of the terrible loss, his despair, his insanity 
and raving exaltation, which ended in the tragedy of the 
grove. He read the following letter, which Leonard had 
found or taken from his wife a day or two before the 
homicide ; the paper was crumpled, stained with tears, 
and almost in pieces from use. It read as follows : 

^‘Annette, — Your last note pained me very much, and 
I scarcely know how to answer it. How much longer will 
you and I fight these shadows of misplaced suspicion? 
Why reproach me with this girl, and that woman, when 
you of all persons in the world should know that I love 


3o8 


THE LOST MODEL. 


you and you only. You are my wife in the sight of God, 
if not of man” (Counsel read that with four different 
emphases). “ I have purchased you with a slavery beside 
which Jacob’s was mere play. You are my Waterloo; 
after you there is nothing left for me. Dear Annette, is 
it impossible that you and I should ever reach the moral 
altitude of a pure and calm confidence in each other, or 
is it the deadly penalty of our mutual crime, that turns 
the flowers to ashes even when we touch them ? You tell 
me you have sacrified your reputation for me, and that you 
rise and lie down in the very shadow of sudden death. It 
is true ! and yet without egotism I can say that I, too, have 
sacrificed the dreams of youth, the aspirations of an earn- 
est ambition, my place among my fellows, for the fever- 
ish breath of a passion which kills the soul in its dreadful 
pulses, and yet with which I can no more do without 
than I can live without air. No, no ; life is too short to 
spend it in a quarrel. Believe me, Annette, you are my 
Alpha and Omega, and Hades itself can be a paradise for 
me when I am possessed of you and your love.” 

There !” shrieked the counsel. “ There’s libidinous, 
licentious, infamous stuff for an unmarried man to write 
to a married woman ! He gloats over the wrong ; he 
boasts of it, and proclaims it as a merit. I’ll read no 
, more of the scoundrel’s licentiousness, — it makes a mar- 
ried man’s blood boil like water!” Here Wabash’s 
sickness came back upon him ; his strength suddenly 
departed, and he closed his harangue in a hoarse whisper, 
commending every one of the persons present, especially 
the jurors, — and he looked at those in the front row, — to 

the care of that God which ” Here he sobbed, 

sighed, and sat down. 

The doctor was the only person present who did not 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


309 


cry over the oration of Wabash ; in fact, he did not hear 
the last part of it, — he was thinking earnestly of the letter 
which had been read, every word of which sank deep in 
his heart, and his eyes filled with tears at the remembrance 
it awoke. 

The prosecutor closed in a very energetic and logical 
answer, which, however, did not seem to interest any- 
body, not even the prisoner, who was busy consulting 
with his counsel as to the forthcoming charge of the judge. 
When all the arguments were over, the court took a recess 
of five minutes, preparatory to taking the decisive step in 
the trial, viz., that of charging the jury. The room was 
crowded and warm, and the doctor, after the judge left 
the bench and went into a private room, pushed his way 
outside of the bar to the window, which overlooked a 
green sward, a fountain, and several beautiful maple-trees, 
upon the branches of which the birds were singing in the 
sunlight. 

“What a difference,” soliloquized the doctor, “be- 
tween man and nature ! Here is peace, calmness, and 
content ; while in this crowded room of men passions 
are displayed which belong to carnivorous animals, and 
not to that being which is supposed to represent the image 
of God.” 

The loud talking in the room ceased, the sheriff rapped 
on the table and called silence, and ordered the bystanders 
to take off their hats, and the huge crowd became as fixed 
and still as so many tables and chairs. The doctor was 
shut out from the bar, but, from his seat in the window, 
he had a tolerably good view of the prisoner and the 
bench. He was anxious to hear what the Court would say 
to the defense of lunacy, and the doctor congratulated 
himself that, at least, he would hear a definition of insanity 
which might be valuable to him, even as a physician ; and 

27 


310 


THE LOST MODEL. 


he pulled out his pocket-book and pencil, and prepared 
to make a note or two of the charge when it came to that 
question. 

Unfortunately, the judge spoke very low, and it was 
only occasionally that a complete sentence reached the 
doctor, although he stretched his neck forward and lis- 
tened attentively. I give the only notes the doctor made 
of the charge : 

‘‘There had been a good many murders that year. 

* New York had furnished two hundred and eighteen assas- 
sinations. It was not for want of churches — crimes were 
on the increase — must be stopped somehow or another. 
... To take life was forbidden by the Mosaic law, but 
more particularly by our own statutes — violations of this 
law were, in most Christian countries, punished with 
death — the Court, in vol. xlv. page 222, had decided that 
this was a Christian country, and people were sometimes 

hanged for murder — . . . What is murder ” (Here 

the doctor’s attention must have been drawn away, for 
nothing followed but a series of circles and pot-hooks.) 

“But now^came the gist of the defense: was the de- 
fendant mad or insane when the homicide was committed? 

— What was insanity?” 

The doctor afterwards stated that at this point the heat 
and stillness of the place, as well as the monotonous voice 
of the judge and the regular splash of the fountain out- 
side, overcame him, and, every* exertion he made to the 
contrary notwithstanding, he fell asleep, and thus lost the d 
cream of judicial wisdom. How long he slept he knew ' 
not, but he was awakened by a great noise, rapping at J 
doors, and shuffling of feet. It appeared that the jury had j 
been charged, had retired, had agreed upon their verdict, 
and were now pounding at the court-room door and calling 
for the sheriff. Then followed the .last tableau vivant in 


THE SCALES OF JUSTICE. 


311 

this important trial. The jurors took their places solemnly 
and noiselessly ; the people pressed breathlessly to the 
bar ; the Court took down its feet from the bench ; and 
the clerk read, in a deep bass voice, the names of the 
jury. While this was being done, an important arrange- 
ment was being made over in the prisoner’s corner. Wa- 
bash and Prodd held up the prisoner Leonard, who, with 
drooping head and crossed hands, looked a picture of utter 
despair. Snagg supported with one arm the pretty sister 
of Leonard, whose long, auburn hair hung gracefully upon 
the shoulder of the eloquent advocate, while, with his 
right arm poised upon the back of a chair, he awaited 
the momentous decision. 

“ Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon a 
verdict?” 

We have, sir.” 

What say you, then?” 

We find the defendant not guilty ^ 

A loud burst of applause ran through the court-room \ 
the prisoner sank upon a chair, and covered his face for a 
moment,*then rose and fervently ejaculated, ‘^God bless 
you, gentlemen of the jury !” 

^^It is a just and noble verdict!” said Wabash, de- 
fiantly. And he scowled at the attorney for the prose- 
cution. , 

“That’s enough for the present,” said the Court, who 
did not seem to think that the jury' had performed any 
very extraordinary good to the Commonwealth; “the 
prisoner is discharged. Mr. Clerk, call the next case, — 
The State vs. Swindlekopf.” 

Doctor Knappe was grieved to the heart. He hurried 
out of the building, as though he was afraid the dome 
would tumble over and crush him, and never paused until 
he reached his house. 


312 


THE LOST MODEL. 


“ Don’t talk to me,” he said to Renata, as he went in; 
‘‘and if anybody calls, tell them I am out.” And he 
^ went into his studio, and locked the door, and sat upon 
the sofa, a picture of despair. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE DOCTOR SELEC 


SON-IN-LAW. 


The doctor, by an arrangement with Kettle, the house- 
keeper, and Colonel Denham, kept the news of the ver- 
dict in the Leonard trial from Renata, as he thought it 
w'ould only pain her to know that such a dreadful crime 
was, by the deliberate judgment of twelve disinterested 
men, allowed to pass unpunished. 

“ I can understand how such a thing comes to pass 
here, doctor,” said Denham. “A criminal trial to-day 
is, and has been for a number of years, a contest between 
certain lawyers, composing the prosecution on one side, 
and the defense on the other. The personal merit of the 
lawyer who prosecutes or defends decides, virtually, the 
case, and both the grade of the crime and the strength of 
the proof are all outshadowed by the eloquence, the fire, 
the tricks, and toMr s' de force of the advocate.” 

“But how does that come about, Denham?” said the 
doctor, pushing his spectacles up among his hair, and 
preparing himself to' fathom the reason of it. 

“That is out of my reach, as the French say.” And 
he led the doctor off in a different direction. 

But one evening as Renata, accompanied by Kettle, 
returned from her usual visit to the mound that over- 


THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-IN-LAW. 313 

looked the forest and the road that led to the prairie, 
where she had last seen Parthee, and where she expected 
to see, some day, the well-known figure return, she looked 
for the veiled form that stood night after night by the 
cross-road, for the lover that never came. Lately this 
woman’s story and fate had been very much on the mind 
of Renata, and she often thought that of the two, herself 
and Mrs. Leonard, perhaps the latter was the happiest ; 
for there was a light burning on the altar that no doubt 
could extinguish, and that the lover would come, and 
was coming, was firmer than the sense of life itself. 
The memory had emptied all its ills upon the sand,- — 
sanity was gone, but hope remained ; it took the place 
of them all. 

Renata noticed that the woman was not at the ac- 
customed meeting -place, and turning to Kettle, said, 

She was not there last night, — no, nor the night before. 
Kettle. Is she sick, or dead?” 

Ach, since old Leonard was acquitted of the murder, 
he sold out his paper and went East, and before he went 
they took this poor creature and put her in the Lunatic 
Asylum. And they say the change is killing her, — she is 
unable to walk now. It will be a mercy for her to die.” 

The last part of this speech was lost upon Renata ; the 
first words had so filled her with indignation that she 
was silent, and only showed her agitation by the rapid 
steps she took. No sooner at home than she burst in 
upon the doctor, as he afterwards described it, like a 
cannon-ball. 

^‘Papa, what does the word ^acquitted’ mean?” 

Why, my child ?” 

Because Kettle says that Leonard was acquitted of 
the murder; does it mean that he had a right to kill 
Redwood ?” 


2r 


314 


THE LOST MODEL, 


No, not exactly. The jury said he was not guilty of 
the murder.” 

‘‘Then who killed Redwood -if Leonard did not?” 

“Well, twelve men, on their oaths, say that Leonard 
was not guilty of it, Renata ; I heard them say so myself. 
The judge asked each one, and they all said he was not 
guilty. I didn’t tell you, because I knew it would only 
trouble you, and somehow lately I have been nearly crazy 
myself with the trouble. First the war, then Redwood’s 
fate, Caspar gone, wounded perhaps by this time, and 
not a letter for nine months to Burgmiller ! Everything 
in the world topsy-turvy, or trying to be so.” 

“Were there no witnesses there? Why, you were 
there, papa, you saw him. You know he is dead. Did 
Leonard deny it? If Leonard did not kill him, then 
who did?” 

“Not so fast, my child. There were witnesses there 
who told the truth ; and the jury knew that Redwood 
was dead, and that Leonard killed him. But you see, 
one of his lawyers said he was insane, and consequently 
not responsible for what he did, and then another told 
them that he was justified in doing it, that Redwood had 
wronged Leonard, — and — all that kind of thing.” 

“ But what did the judge say, papa? He certainly knew 
better. Did he tell them that the lawyers were paid to 
tell lies, and that they must not be believed?” 

“Well, not ex^tly that, my child; but he told them 
what was right ; the only difficulty, however, being, that 
the jury did not mind what he said. And then, somehow, 
the judge does not talk half so well as the advocates, and 
the jury consequently don’t pay him m ich attention.” 

“The jury!” echoed Renata, with scorn. 

“ Had I been judge,” continued the doctor, “ I would 
have sent them to jail for calling such a judgment a 


THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-IH-LAIV. 315 

verdict j — which means a truthful saying, or correct judg- 
ment. But come, sit down, and let us be sensible over it. 
What is it, after all, to any reflective person, that a mur- 
derer is pronounced innocent, and a consummate rogue 
carries the staff of office? Right is right, although wrong 
became the law of the land, and was written by the fools 
upon tablets of brass. You and I must do our duty for 
the love of it, even if they crown us with thorns instead 
of roses. No matter what the wiseacres say, God rules 
the destinies of men. Because Leonard is free by the 
decision of law, he is not released by God from the 
consequences of his guilt ; the moment the crime was* 
committed the punishment commenced, and it will last 
forever. Out of that circle no human power can draw 
him; as Redwood himself often said.” 

“Shall there be no difference, then, between the treat- 
ment of a rogue and an honest man?” asked Renata, 
who was considerably puzzled by this kind of retribution. 

“ Certainly not, Renata. But I am speaking of pun- 
ishment. You require that when the thief steals or the 
murderer kills, that a sudden flash of lightning should 
strike them on the spot ; or that some great corporeal 
pain should be instantly inflicted. Now, I say that a 
punishment falls invisibly but certain, which is even more 
painful than hanging. But you are like all the rest of 
the women,” said the doctor, as he noticed the incredu- 
lous look in the girl’s face : “ nothing ^ists but what they 
can see, or smell, or feel. Every time any mortal 
violates the law, you would have God Almighty put his 
arm down and take the fellow by the hair of the head, 
like you would a dog, or otherwise there is no such 
thing as Providence. However, we won’t quarrel over 
it. Here is Denham, who is later from his books than I 
am ; he can explain it to you.” 


3i6 


THE LOST MODEL. 


And as though it was preconcerted between them, as 
the doctor went out Colonel Denham came slowly in. 

Lately the tHe-d-tHes with Denham became painful to 
Renata, without exactly knowing why ; some of his words 
— especially about Parthee — seemed intended to hurt her; 
and there was in his voice and look something which 
warned her to avoid him. The air of embarrassment upon 
his face at this moment did not reassure her ; but she 
mustered her courage, and welcomed him with the old 
smile of good-fellowship. 

Der arjner Kerl,^"^ she thought, “ has lost his home, 
his mother, perhaps the brother also. With courage and 
unselfishness he goes to war for his country, and when he 
is wounded, the poor fellow almost perishes with neglect 
in a hospital.” 

And Denham noticed the bright glances she showered 
over him, and the old playfellow confidence with which 
she treated him. 

“ Your father and I are poor hands at keeping a secret, 
eh, Renata?” 

‘‘I found it out myself, Mr. Denham.” 

Mr. Denham?” he repeated. 

“Well, Harry Denham, then,” she added, laughingly. 

“ Papa should have told it me at first, and then it would 
not have come so suddenly. But he is — what do you call 
it? — very peculiar. He loves to tell things. Tlie ninety- 
nine things in this life which papa ought to keep to him- 
self, he shouts out from the roof of his house, and he will 
tell and tell them, until every man, woman, and child in 
the neighborhood knows them as well as he does ; and the 
one thing he ought to tell he keeps secret.” 

“ How old were you when you first remember Red- 
wood, Renata?” 

“ Oh, I was ever so little. Why, I have sat on his lap 


THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-IN-LAW. 317 

a thousand times. But I liked him from the first, and for 
precisely those things which other people did not like him 
for. His old-fashioned dress, his grim, earnest manner, 
his silent scorn in the presence of those he did not like, 
his innocent smile, and that beautiful voice. Why, when 
I was perplexed over anything, I would go to him, and 
he would in a few words throw such a light over it that I 
knew it at once. He was really handsome, and never 
knew it. That this woman loved him,” she added, fol- 
lowing her own thoughts, “ I do not wonder; but that 
this love should kill him, and put her in a mad-house, is 
something the good God may explain, but I shall never 
understand it I am afraid.” 

‘‘It is real pleasure, Renata, to hear you speak of those 
you love. Is Parthee remembered with as much enthu- 
siasm ?” 

The question came so suddenly, and was accompanied 
with so earnest a look, that it raised a storm in her heart 
so strong that for a moment or two she was speechless, 
and she could only look at him in amazement, while her 
face, neck, and ears tingled with the warm blood which 
suffused tliem. 

Something whispered to her that now was the time to 
speak, in order to save one whom she so highly esteemed 
and admired from being pained and humiliated. 

“The feeling is quite different, Harry Denham ; one is 
admiration, esteem, liking of the head ; the other is of 
the heart ” 

“Love!” said Denham, ironically. 

“True, it is love. One moment, Denham, if you 
])lease,” as she saw he was about to interrupt her. 
“ Do not make a mistake. The word love with me 
means all. I was never jealous of Redwood, but I was 
once of Parthee, and my heart became as hard as a stone. 


3i8 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I could have killed the woman who caused it, even though 
she did it unintentionally. I do not know myself when 
this feeling comes over me. To-day the commonest 
place in the city is beautiful because Parthee is there ; to- 
morrow the city itself is loathsome because he is absent. 
We are engaged,” she cried, triumphantly, and he will 
come back and marry me, I know he will.” 

‘^Does your father know of this?” 

“No; papa has his head full of pictures, letters, and 
Burgmiller ; how can I speak to him ? He thinks me still 
the child of yesterday. Pardon me, Harry Denham, if I 
pain or shock you, but the truth is the truth. You and I are 
almost school-playfellows, let us be friends still. When the 
war closes, you must come here to live and be as one of us. 
And for that very reason, Harry Denham, you must help 
me, and not be against me. I cannot help it, but this 
half-breed as you call him is all I have left. He is so 
dear to me, that when you tell me he never will come 
back you are killing the hope even of life within me.” 

Denham was walking slowly up and down during this 
last speech, and when the girl stopped, he took her hand, 
and said, gently, — 

“ Well, time, Renata, may clear away even this coil. 
Let us not anticipate trouble. If my friendship is all you 
desire, I must learn to be contented with that.” And he 
slowly withdrew. 

A week or so latg*, when Denham left to join his regi- 
ment, being sufficiently recovered from his wound, and 
being also more anxious to be in the field when it was ap- 
parent that the Southern resistance was crumbling away 
from sheer want of material and from exhaustion, he im- 
parted to the doctor his poor success, and astounded the 
latter by the revelation of Renata’s liking for Parthee. He 
also, however, strictly enjoined secresy upon the doctor. 


THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-IN-LAW. 319 

who tried to limit his impatience to the words repeated, 
sotto-voccy Du hist ein Schafskopf, mein Kind.” 

But just before Denham and he parted at the depot, 
the doctor told him with great confidence : “Now, my 
dear boy, I have thought the matter all out, and your 
wishes shall be fulfilled in regard to that silly girl of 
mine. In the first place. Colonel Denham, I shall — of 
course in a plain but fatherly manner — tell her what 
marriage is, what life is, and what are the duties en- 
joined upon us.” 

And then the doctor unfolded his scheme of argument. 
There were pathological and moral reasons why .his 
daughter should not marry Parthee, but should marry the 
man her father selected. As the doctor talked over it, 
the theme grew in size, and he was astonished at his own 
fertility of imagination. He followed Denham into the 
cars, and came near being taken along with him, so ab- 
sorbed was he in unfolding it. Denham could not repress 
a smile, as he caught a glimpse of the doctor walking 
away out of the railroad depot, his head down, his hand 
in his bosom, and his whole nature wrapped in inner con- 
templation. 

That very night, when the doctor and Renata were 
seated in the parlor, speaking about the probable arrival 
home of Caspar, and of affairs in general, the doctor 
thought it was an admirable opportunity to give the lesson 
to Renata which he had already prepared for her benefit; 
so, pushing his spectacles up in his hair, he commenced 
his disquisition by a kind of outline of the history of the 
human race. He had got as far as his own marriage, 
in Gottingen, and his subsequent emigration from that 
abode of learning, when Renata suddenly interrupted 
him : 

“ Papa, tell me, did mother like anybody besides you? 


320 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I mean did she ever see any one she liked as well as 
you ?” 

The doctor, when discussing ordinary matters, was 
always put out if interrupted ; it disturbed the tenor of 
his thoughts, broke up the natural flow, and put him at 
the mercy of the vagrant ideas which are always floating 
in a man’s skull. 

But this question fairly capsized him. The idea that 
his wife — that second subordinate self, according to the 
healthy German conception of the correlation of marital 
parties — should ever have any thought outside of him; 
the bare possibility that the conjugal planet should be 
attracted to any other sun, overwhelmed him with aston- 
ishment, and he could only repeat, half in anger and 
half in amazement, — 

You beat the devil, you do ! I never open my mouth 
to say a word but you fling a piece of nonsfense at me that 
utterly upsets me, — yes, that utterly upsets me.” 

It was in vain that Renata laughingly explained that 
she did not mean anything ; he could go no further that 
night. 

And long after Renata had retired, he sat and thought 
over the past ; and, while repeating to himself the utter 
absurdity of the question, he nevertheless conjured up 
in his memory the pretty little woman who, for many 
years, had been his silent, obedient, uncomplaining com- 
panion, and put to this pale shadow the same interroga- 
tion, and fell asleep while seeking the answer. 


A MODERN MEMNON. 


321 


CHAPTER XL 

A MODERN MEMNONi 

Early one morning Renata joined the stream of people 
who were flocking up the steps of the Cathedral of Bosh- 
ville, to hear the early mass, — the Catholic portion of the 

community at B being more attentive to the forms 

of religion than their more matter-of-fact brethren, the 
Protestants. Whether the latter knew more or cared less 
for the ‘^trappings” and ceremonies of religious wo rship> 
and thus were satisfied with one day in the week being 
devoted to that special occupation, would be hard to de- 
cide. Knowledge is popularly supposed to diminish one’s 
faith in the supernatural, and the priests have sanctioned 
the opinion by their strenuous efforts to regulate the in- 
tellectual light which shall stream into the human brain ; 
and, if not able to check the quantity, they at least 
manage to moderate the quality, by straining it through 
certain colored glasses, until it is eliminated to the ‘^dim 
religious light” so favorable to credulity. And yet it may 
be doubted if knowledge has anything to do with the 
increase or decrease of faith. If, like love, it is an affaire 
dll coeur,' it is strengthened, rather than diminished, by 
the union, as the former will lend it wings and weapons of 
defense. The heart uses the head as in the Eastern story 
the lover the genii, to gain the object of its passion ; and 
it makes no difference whether the passion is love, am- 
bition, or faith, self lies at the root of all. 

It was not, however, to hear the mass, or partake of the 
28 


322 


THE LOST MODEL. 


communion, which brought Renata so early into the hand- 
some edifice, but simply to see the statues inside of the 
altar-railing; and for that purpose she walked slowly but 
firmly up to the front, and then slid noiselessly into a 
seat. Inside the brass railing which separated the priests 
from the laity was a large marble altar-piece, with a small 
silver door in the centre, with numerous golden candle- 
sticks and circles, and with a number of simulated can- 
dles, which burned perpetually, and yet never decreased 
in size ; and, before all the ornament and glitter, an old 
man, dressed in white and gold, walked clumsily up and 
down, with his back to the people, and muttered, now 
and then, words which were incoherent, but yet quivering 
with emotion, and which were echoed back by the crowds, 
who knelt and muttered as incoherently as did the old 
priest. All this the blue eyes of the girl took in at a 
glance, and without awe or emotion ; but when the sun’s 
rays burst through the side window, and, piercing the 
smoke of incense which rose up on either side of the 
altar, lighted up the marble figure of the angel, whose 
face was the face of Parthee, her figure trembled with the 
shock of recognition, and her eyes filled with tears. It 
was so like him that she saw the hair move, the lips smile, 
and the orbless sockets of the eyes beamed as of old upon 
her with their affectionate radiance. The pose of the hand 
was admonitory, and the expression of the face recalled 
the time when, in playful earnestness, he offered to change 
her into stone. 

‘‘And it is true at last !” she thought. “ We are both 
turned into statues ! God, how beautiful he looks ! In 
olden times the gods came down to earth and married 
pretty girls. Is the time gone by forever ? Is this, per- 
haps, a God-forsaken land, given up to trade, machinery, 
and shops ? In the far East, how different ! There the 


A MODERN MEMNON 


323 


genius came down and bore the prince through the air to 
the lady who was pining away for him. Are all the genii 
dead, or is liberty, as papa says, fatal to men and gods? 
There was Lohengrin, who fought for Eva, and married 
her ; and, when the trumpet sounded, came out of the 
clouds to the lake, drawn by swans, and came right to the 
side of Eva. Who will sound the trumpet for me ? If I 
was longed for like Parthee is, I would come back, if only 
for pure pity’s sake. God hears all the prayers here ; but 
how many are granted ? Day after day, and hour after 
hour, the people come here and pray to him; and no 
matter what they say, the sick are still sick and the poor 
are still poor. Perhaps it is true that God does not desire 
our happiness, and that he made us to be miserable, and 
that it is his wish that the heart should be broken over 
its own idol. How horrible is the thought !” 

She rose from her seat, and, a moment afterwards, sank 
back upon the bench, and listened, with clasped hands 
and bent head, to the muttering chorus which rose and 
fell in the church, while her imagination fled across track- 
less prairies, and sought, in forest and dale, an image 
which ceaselessly moved away from her. 

The people had left the church, and hurried to their 
daily avocations, and the priest was taking off his vest- 
ments at the side of the altar, and handing them to one 
of the attending acolyths, who received them with rev- 
erence and folded them with care ; and Renata, taking a 
last look, was about to leave, when she heard two voices 
whispering, and there passed up the aisle to the altar her 
father, the doctor, and old Ferris, the sculptor. 

They paused near where she was seated, and commenced 
discussing, in a subdued voice, the position of the marble 
group inside of the altar. ‘‘The bishop,” said Ferris, 
“ wants this window altered at the side. You see, the 


324 


THE LOST MODEL. 


rays of the morning sun fall directly on the shoulders of 
the angel. Now, he thinks of having the window height- 
ened, and putting in yellow glass, so that a stream of 
golden light can fall directly upon the head of the prin- 
cipal figure. There, like the ray of light from the breast 
of the dove in the picture yonder. Not that one, but the 
top picture of all, where the dove is descending upon 
Christ in the water.” 

The doctor shook his head at this. ‘‘ No, that strikes 
me as a little theatrical ; besides, the color will destroy 
the simplicity and purity of the idea. It is said the 
Greeks colored their statues ; but that was from other 
motives than the desire to excite a sensational effect upon 
the beholder.” 

‘‘Well,” said Ferris, shaking his head, “the Greek, 
like the rest of us, spoke strongly to the senses ; but he 
did not do it for merely sensual purposes.” 

The doctor, to get a better view of the group, and not 
wishing to be seen standing in the aisle criticising what 
was there considered as a sacred object, slid into the pew 
where Renata was sitting, and when he caught her eye 
and saw who it was, it seemed to strike him like a thunder- 
clap. 

“ Why, what in the name of goodness brings you here, 
Renata, eh? Why, I thought you were writing a letter 
to Caspar.” 

“I presume Miss Renata comes on the same errand that 
you and I did,” said the good-natured sculptor, coming 
to the rescue of the blushing girl. 

“ I do not see why you should be so astonished at find- 
ing me here, papa ; every day since the work was placed 
here, you asked me if I had been to see it.” 

“ That’s true, my child ; but this morning you did not 
say a word about coming here.” 


A MODERN MEMNON 


325 


‘‘It is nevertheless a pleasure, because it was not antici- 
•pated,” said Ferris, who was determined to defend the girl. 

Renata laughed. “You see, Mr. Ferris, papa has been 
so many years prescribing for sick people, telling them 
what they shall eat and when they may go out, that he 
does the same at home, and he is astonished whenever old 
Kettle or myself deviates from the daily prescription.” 

There certainly would have been a discussion in the 
church as to who was right, for the doctor had put up his 
spectacles in his hair and had raised his hand, preparatory 
to a proper division of his argument, when the young 
priest or neophyte approached, and speaking to Ferris in 
Italian, told him the bishop wished to see him, and thus 
interrupted a very interesting lecture. 

The doctor, however, remembered it as well as his last 
discomfiture, and he told his daughter that he had some- 
thing very important to say to her ; and when they left 
and arrived at the house, he called old Kettle into the 
parlor, and entered upon a campaign which he had been 
planning for several days as well as nights. He prefaced 
it by saying, — 

“ I saw Leslie, and had a long talk with him; among 
other things, about Parthee. George is back ; came in 
one morning, and has hung up his rifle and has said good- 
by to his wandering life forever. Of course there is a 
time in everybody’s life when the passions drive them 
out of the beaten path into all sorts of excesses; and 
happy for them if they do it early in life, so that the 
middle and end of it may be better than the beginning. 
As a young man, I do not remember whether I had many 
vices, but this thing is certain ” 

“But what about Parthee?” said Renata, impatiently. 

“Well, I asked George all about him. In the first 
place, to my astonishment, George did not seem to know 

28* 


326 


THE LOST MODEL. 


much, or what he did know he refused to tell. Besides, 
you know George Leslie has the worst kind of an impedi- 
ment in his speech ; that is to say, he can talk, but he 
won’t. However, he said he first saw him among the 
Blackfeet, and afterwards with Bear Cloud ; that he spoke 
Spanish, was a good shot, and was a favorite with the 
tribe. And that is about all he tells. He laughs at his 
father’s story, and he told me privately that he believed 
the old gentleman and Cross were too much under the 
influence of old whisky that morning to know really 
what did take place. One thing I feel sorry for, and that 
is, the condition this young man has returned in ; why, he 
is a mere skeleton, and is suffering from a disease of the 
chest which will carry him off in a few months. What 
his life has been the Lord only knows ; but his haggard 
face and long, gaunt figure is painful to look at ” 

‘‘But, Parthee,” interrupted Kettle, who was also 
sharing the girl’s anxiety. 

“ Well, so far as he is concerned,” and he spoke the 
words deliberately, “George says he never will come 
back. Bear Cloud and his braves have got what they 
wanted, — arms and gunpowder. Instead of joining the 
expedition sent out by the government, they have started 
across the plains ; they are calling the Indians from their 
reservations, and thinking that while the war between the 
South and North lasts it is an excellent opportunity to 
get rid of the neighboring whites, they are killing all 
they meet with. The border-men, with a couple of regi- 
ments of cavalry, no longer needed in the war, have 
gone West, and he says the fight now will be one of 
extermination. He says not one of Bear Cloud’s men 
will live to tell what is going on there ; and he speaks, 
my child, like one who tells what has taken place, rather 
than what will come to pass.” 


A MODERN MEMNON. 


327 


The doctor’s heart smote him when he saw the intense 
look of despair which settled upon the pale face of 
Renata, and how the girl, with her head leaning on old 
Kettle’s shoulder, still gazed in silence upon him. 

‘‘ I must strike, however, while the iron is hot,” he 
thought, and he continued the attack. 

“This question of love and marriage, my child, I have 
thought about a good deal. So far as love is concerned, 
it is oftener more fatal than hate. See what a terrible 
thing took place right in our midst, caused by that unruly 
and selfish passion. A noble-hearted and gifted man 
murdered, a woman of great personal beauty and grace 
dying in a mad-house, and an unprincipled ruffian doing 
wrong with impunity, which is possibly the worst picture of 
them all. Besides, I cannot for the life of me tell where 
you get many of your bizarre tastes : an admiration for 
certain extremes. Your mother was quite the opposite. 
Why, when I courted her she was receiving the attentions 
and visits of one of the handsomest young men at the 
Gottingen University, a nobleman, and a man of great 
taste, and dress, and display; and I, you know, never 
made any pretensions in that direction, and yet she pre- 
ferred me with my poverty to that splendid fellow with 
his wealth.” 

“ Oh, Alvensleben,” said Kettle, “was an idle, dis- 
sipated fellow ; besides, he had no sense. Who could 
fall in love with him?” 

“Well, Kettle, he was a count, and when we criticise 
and condemn his vices, we must take into consideration 
the opportunities and temptations in such a life as his. 
However, that has nothing to do with what I am speaking 
about now. What I meant to say is this : there are some 
natures that are constantly attracted by this pretty face 
and that fine figure, and the life is lost in a schwaermerei 


328 


THE LOST MODEL. 


over trifles and degrading sentiments ; but of that your 
mother had not a spark. Quiet, grave, and clear-headed, 
the will-o’-wisps of life had no attraction for her.” 

“But,” interposed Kettle, as she smoothed the cheek 
of Renata, “the ^ selige mutter' was not so stupid as not 
to admire beauty ; and she always looked willingly upon 
a handsome man.” 

My God, you are mistaken. Kettle ! She cared no 
more for a handsome man than I do for a pair of dancing- 
slippers.” 

“Ach, be reasonable! There was Hanska, the Hun- 
garian Rittmeister, whom she loved to see on horseback, 
he was so graceful and fine to see.” 

“Hanska, the riding-master!” reiterated the worthy 
doctor, considerably puzzled ; and in trying to recall up 
the memory of that worthy individual, he closed his 
eyes and opened his mouth with the intensity of his 
abstraction. 

“He used to live right opposite us, and although he 
never spoke one word to her, he always took off his hat 
when she sat at the window and he rode by on his beau- 
tiful horse. And don’t you remember the day you left 
he sent her a beautiful bouquet? and the dead flowers 
are still in the book where she pressed and preserved 
them.” 

The revelation of this trifle in his past life amazed the 
doctor, and he sat overwhelmed with confusion as the old 
housekeeper blundered along on her story. 

“No, no, my child shall never marry a doctor. The 
poor mother had many a sad hour. You were gone 
nearly all day, and then in the evening you had your 
pictures, your music, and your fine American company. 
You scarcely ever took her out, and it was only when 
everybody told you how handsome your wife was that 


A MODERN MEMNON 


329 


you ever seemed to notice her pretty face ; and then you 
went to the other extreme, and every man who called at 
your house, you trotted her out like you did your pictures. 
But it was no pleasure to her, the poor woman !” 

Kettle, did I ever refuse her anything?” said the 
doctor, desperately. 

/‘Ach, a woman wants to be loved, to be petted, to 
be ” 

“That is all nonsense! and I don’t want to hear any 
more about it ; you have outlived your sense as well as 
the others,” said the doctor. 

“Besides, the Americans make much better husbands 
than the Germans do ; everybody knows that,” said the 
old housekeeper, throwing the last shot. 

“You know better. Kettle, you know better.” 

Renata went to the doctor, and pushing back his hair 
off his hot forehead and kissing him, she said, quietly, 
“ Don’t let us talk any more about it at present, papa ; in 
a short time Caspar will be here, and we must prepare 
the house for our brave soldier,^nd be merry, and thank 
God he is restored to us. And some time, when I have 
thought it out, — not yet, however, — I will tell you all I 
feel about Parthee, and you shall advise me, and what 
you say I will do.” 

“That is right, my child; and whatever is best shall be 
done. Now go about your work, both of you', for you’ve 
managed as usual to turn me topsy-turvy.” 

Caspar’s name had set the doctor thinking very seri- 
ously, for he had never told either Renata or Kettle that 
the poor boy had lost his left hand, — the wound had been 
so severe that the surgeon had found it necessary to ampu- 
tate it, just above the wrist. “I will tell them to-morrow, 
certainly,” said the doctor; and, for fear that it would 
escape his memory, he wrote it down in his diary. “I 


330 


THE LOST MODEL. 


have had trouble enough for one day ; another scene in 
this twenty-four hours would send me crazy.” 

As he did so, he became aware of a shadow which fell 
across his book, and looking up, he saw in the doorway 
of his office a man standing, hat in hand, waiting to 
catch his attention. He was a huge, overgrown fellow, 
fat, dirty-faced, with shabby clothes, and vapors of to- 
bacco constantly emanated from his clothes and matted 
hair. He addressed the doctor in German, and first 
asked for food and then for work. 

The doctor took him into the kitchen, and the old 
housekeeper and Renata placed before him bread, butter, 
meat, and coffee, which he devoured with rapidity, and 
with an appetite which seemed difficult to appease. 
While the women-folks supplied the victuals, the doctor 
cross-examined the fellow as to his mental condition. 

Between his mouthfuls he grunted out, in a rasping 
voice, but High German, — 

I am a poor, learned man — was educated for a Cath- 
olic priest at Rome, in tl:jg Propaganda — knew too much 
— came to Bonn — studied philosophy — wrote a book on 
the freedom of the people, and its connection with phi- 
losophy — government drove me out — came here, and was 
souffleurm a theatre — war broke out — too big, too learned, 
for a soldier — and have ever since been a poor beggar — 
know six languages.” And he declaimed a few lines in 
Greek, which the doctor nodded and smiled at, although 
he did not understand a word. 

The doctor thought of his Burgmiller correspondence, 
and of the many painters and engraving -collectors in 
Europe with whom he had corresponded, and to whom 
he owed long and elaborate answers. Then there was 
a catalogue, which had been floating for years in his 
mind, but which he had never yet found an opportunity 


AFl'ER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. 331 

of commencing. He waited until the learned beggar, 
who had a stomach like an elephant, had cleared the 
dishes; and^then he took him into his studio, and un- 
folded his plans, and tried the fellow, who answered to 
the name of Gadung, at a letter. When the epistle was 
finished, the doctor read it critically, and it delighted 
him. It was in the high-flown language and rhetorical 
politeness which the doctor considered was the highest 
strata of human thought. And he, there and then, as 
Renata told Kettle with delight, engaged him as a sec- 
retary, to write every evening, until further notice. 


CHAPTER XII. 

AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. 

‘‘Where are you going in^uch a hurry?” asked the 
doctor, one morning, of his ola housekeeper, as he met 
her in the doorway. 

“ The bells have been ringing and the cannon firing for 
the last half-hour, and I can’t imagine what it can be; 
and I was going to ask Mrs. Bovine’s girl, as her mistress 
knows everything.” 

“ So they are,” said the doctor, as he paused and lis- 
tened to the clanging of the fire-bells and the occasional 
loud reverberations among the hills on the opposite side 
of the river. 

She soon came running back. “My God, it is the 
arrival of the ‘Sam Coon,’ with the — th Regiment on 
board ! and that is our beloved Caspar’s regiment !” And 
she ran up-stairs, to carry the news to Renata. 


332 


THE LOST MODEL. 


In a short time they both returned, with bonnets and 
shawls, crying and laughing, alternately, with delight. 

Renata, my child, lock my parlor-door, and bring 
me the key,” said the doctor ; and, when she had started 
on her errand, he added, sotto-voce, to the old house- 
keeper, — 

“ Kettle, give her a hint, on the way, about Caspar 
losing his hand, — the sight may shock her, and then 
there will be a devil of a scene on that boat when she 
finds it out.” 

‘‘ That’s the result of your managing tricks,” said the 
old housekeeper, reproachfully; ‘^the truth is the truth, 
and should be told.” 

The doctor had no time to answer, for the girl came 
running joyfully towards them ; and when he saw her 
bright eyes and radiant face his conscience smote him, 
and he unconsciously dropped a little behind them, as 
they followed the crowd, that pushed and hurried to the 
river, where the boat lay. Every man, woman, and child 
in Boshville was joining ^e throng that crowded to the 
river ; and the noise of tramping feet and excited voices 
almost drowned the bells and the guns. Flags were sud- 
denly suspended across the principal streets, and the stars 
and stripes appeared at every window. Large bodies of 
policemen were marched to the levee, to keep the people 
back, and to preserve some kind of order while the men 
formed and marched. Little newsboys dived into the 
crowds, shouting the last edition, with the account of the 
line of march, etc., and Boshville was in a ferment from 
top to. bottom. The shops, stores, and warehouses were 
deserted, and the barkeepers of the saloons, in their shirt- 
sleeves, ran shouting with the rest. Drays, wagons, and 
vehicles were forced into the side-streets, as the people 
had taken full possession, not only of the sidewalks, but 


AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS, 333 

the roads through which the troops were to pass \ and the 
drivers tied up their horses, and increased the grand pro- 
cession. As they neared the levee, the large space was 
covered with a dense mass of human beings, who shouted, 
hallooed, threw up their caps, and yelled with delight. 
The doctor gave a hopeless look at the surging masses 
which stood between them and the black smoke-stack of 
the steamboat, from which the regiment was descending, 
and said to his two companions, — 

^‘We never can get there, — we will be trampled to 
death; besides,” he added, standing on tip-toe, ^‘the 
men are coming off the boat. I can see their bayonets 
and the regimental colors. Here is a good place; let us 
stop here and see them pass.” 

But he spoke in vain, for Renata had got hold of Ket- 
tle’s arm, and the two were resolutely pushing their way 
to.'the boat. 

‘‘When the brother returns from the war,” said Renata, 
indignantly, ‘‘shall there be no one to kiss him and wel- 
come him back ? The crowd' like us, — they have got 
brothers and husbands among them, and they go ; and 
so will we.” 

It is doubtful, however, if even so good a resolution 
would have been carried out, for the nearer they got to 
the boat the denser and more impassable became the 
i crowd. Fortunately, Colonel Denham, who was standing 
I upon the hurricane-deck and looking anxiously down 
into the crowd, caught sight of the doctor, surging back- 
; wards and forwards with the sea of hats and faces, and 
catching, at the same time, a glimpse of a bonnet in the 
doctor’s neighborhood, he dispatched a couple of men to 
their rescue; and, a few moments afterwards, the men 
returned and passed along the gangway to the steamboat 
Renata, Kettle, and the doctor. Renata was carrying 

29 


334 


. THE LOST MODEL. 


her hat in her hand and her shawl on her arm, for the 
press of people had not only knocked them off, but they 
bore marks of having been trampled upon ; but the blush- 
ing girl only hurried forward, looking eagerly for Caspar. 

“It is young Knappe’s sister! He is in the ladies’ 
cabin, with the other officers. Stand aside, boys, and let 
her pass ! What a beautiful face she has ! See here, 
boys!” was the cry as she passed; and they pointed 
out where a group of officers were standing conversing 
with some ladies and gentlemen, at the end of the long 
cabin. As they passed along, they met Colonel Denham, 
with a young man at his side, at sight of whom Re- 
nata dropped her hat, and, throwing her arms around his 
neck, kissed and cried out, “Ach, Caspar! Caspar!” 

Both the women pushed him into the corner, and em- 
braced and wept over him alternately. Renata, with a 
woman’s quickness of perception, had detected the muf- 
fled sleeve, with its ominous empty cuff, and she kissed, 
with a feeling of reverence and love, the poor, mutilated 
arm, which, as he saw, ij^de the doctor’s eyes fill with 
tears. 

“You see,” said the doctor, apologetically, to the 
colonel, as they stood a little in the rear, “I ought to 
have told her beforehand about it, but I declare to heaven 
I never had the time. I don’t know how it is, but I 
never get time to do anything.” 

“That makes one feel at home, now, to hear our old 
friend. Dr. Knappe, cursing the want of time,” said a 
rough voice, and the surgeon of the regiment slapped Dr. 
Knappe on the back, and laughed heartily at him. 

“ Why, Wilson, I am right glad to see you back ; and a 
thousand thanks, old fellow, for your kindness to my son 
Caspar. Tell me, — I notice you had to amputate, — how 
much of the forearm has he lost?” 


AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS, 335 

‘‘None; only to the wrist. Yes, the ball went right 
through the centre of his hand, shattering the bones. 
Gangrene set in, and we had to take it off. So you are 
still without any time, eh ? We must give you a day that, 
like the Italian clocks, shall run twenty-four hours instead 
of twelve. How will that suit you ?” 

“Well, how did he behave, doctor?” 

“ Caspar? Oh, brave enough. He came to me in the 
afternoon, some two or three hours after the fight, and 
showed it to me. It appears that Captain Benson had 
tied it up hastily, and took him over the field to where 
Dr. Berry was dressing and tending those unable to be 
carried from the field, and he stayed there waiting his 
turn until he fainted from loss of blood ; finally they 
brought him to me, and Berry and I concluded, after 
taking out some of the pieces of bone, that we would wait 
and see how it went. But his system was down ; he had 
been suffering from camp fever, and nature did not help 
us. He held up like a man ; and, in fact, it has been a 
matter of frequent observation that there is a good deal 
of tough material in the so-called household pets, and 
some of them can rough it with any of the farmer boys 
from the West.” 

As the speaker finished, Caspar emerged from the cor- 
ner and warmly embraced his father, who kissed him in 
silence. The last two or three years had made a great 
change in Caspar ; he was thin from the fatigues of the cam- 
paign, slightly taller, and his face was bronzed by the sun. 
But there was a quiet, determined look in the face, a per- 
emptory tone in his voice, and a care-worn look about 
the eyes, which trouble and war had imprinted on the 
youthful, eager countenance, which touched and affected 
Renata and the old housekeeper almost as keenly as did 
the empty cuff. 


336 


THE LOST MODEL. 


Ach, der arme Junge /” said the old housekeeper, sor- 
rowfully. Why did we let him go and be mutilated in 
that manner? They have not only taken my poor boy’s 
arm away, but all his youth, freshness, and innocence.” 
And she and Renata commenced to plan how they would 
feed and pet him so soon as they could get him home, 
and that no government in the world should ever get hold 
of him again. 

If Renata was pained at the change time had wrought 
in her twin brother, Caspar was no less astonished at the 
beauty of his sister, which, until that moment, had been 
as it were hidden from him. He had often heard his 
companions speak of his pretty sister, but familiarity had 
dulled his appreciation ; but to-day, the bright beaming 
blue eyes, the high forehead, the red, pouting lips, and 
the complexion, with the whiteness of a summer cloud 
through which the sunlight is faintly permeating, made 
her a picture that he looked at with unfeigned admira- 
tion. 

‘‘Father,” said Caspar, “you and Kettle wait here 
while I show Renata the ftien from the hurricane-deck. 
Come on, Schwesterchen.” And he fairly blushed with 
pleasure as the girl hung upon his arm, and his brother 
officers looked after him enviously. “ See, that is Adju- 
tant Dupont, who is forming the men in line j Company 
K, to which I was attached at first, is now leaving the 
boat. The police ought to keep those women back, else 
the men can never form in line.” 

Renata laughed. “Let the women alone, good brother ; 
don’t you think that if you was there I should rush in and 
pull you out ? of course I would. Oh, Caspar, and I have 
so much to tell you ! What do you think ? papa has got a 
secretary to write his letters, a great beer-drinking fellow, 
who can fill five pages with one sentence, and poor papa 


AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. 337 

is delighted with him. He says he is the only man in 
America who can write a good style.” And the pair 
laughed heartily at the doctor’s hobby. 

‘^That tall fellow in the shako is the drum-major; we 
picked him up in Virginia ; he was the biggest fellow in 
the regiment, and a regular spoon. That little fellow on 
horseback is the major ; I promised him I would introduce 
you ; he is very vain, but perfectly harmless. And what 
has become of all our friends?” 

Oh, they are all here as usual. Sallie Leslie ran away 
with a bad preacher ; Mrs. Bovine is still chasing man at 
large; poor Mrs. Denham never came back after her 
house was burned down, and ” 

‘‘Come, come, you young folks,” interrupted the 
doctor, “ there is Colonel Denham looking for his aid, 
and, besides, I prefer the news should be told en famille. 
Let Caspar go with his regiment to their headquarters, 
and in the evening the budgets shall be opened.” 

“ Colonel Denham,” said Renata, “won’t you please 
let Caspar go home with us now ?” 

“ Oh, certainly, if he desires it. But the citizens have 
invited us to the Town Hall to hear a speech, and this 
evening to a banquet, and I would suggest that you and 
your papa should be present.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, Renata,” said the doctor ; “ the 
regiment is going to march through the city to the Town 
Hall, where the mayor will receive them, and of course 
Caspar must be with the rest.” 

“Father is right,” said Caspar; “now come along 
both of you to the bow of the ’boat, where you can sit and 
see us march off, and then, when the crowd is gone, you 
can hurry home, and the colonel and I will be there 
almost as soon as you are.” 

“ Has Miss Linwood called at our house lately, Re- 
29* 


338 


THE LOST MODEL. 


nata?” asked Caspar, as he helped her through the 
crowd. 

‘‘The rich Miss Linwood? Yes, she often comes 
there ; and do you know I have often wondered what she 
has to say to papa or to Kettle when she meets them.” 

Caspar rubbed his nose, and said, laughingly, “ I think 
likely she is fond of pictures, and possibly talks about art 
matters when she comes.” After a pause : “She never 
asked after me, did she ?” 

“ Once she did. But as I thought she only asked out 
of idle curiosity, and that hateful Mrs. Bovine was with 
her, I did not give them any satisfaction.” 

“I tell you what we will do. Kettle,” said Renata; 
“when the regiment has left the landing we will hurry 
up the avenue, take one of the short streets, and go to 
the Town Hall ; we can get there long before they do, 
and we will see them come in, for I love to see soldiers 
march. Let us tell papa to go with them, and that we 
will find our way home when the crowd is gone.” 

The plan, as conceived, was carried out. The doctor 
very readily followed the regiment as it marched off, 
colors flying, band playing, and his son Caspar, mounted 
on a handsome horse, riding at the head, a little in the 
rear of the colonel. And the doctor plodded along with 
the crowd, excited with the music and cheering of the 
people, and occasionally gratifying his sight with a glance 
at the young officer who rode so gracefully in front, and 
which he could scarcely believe was his careless boy, 
Caspar. 

The coast was no sooner clear than Renata and her 
companion started for the Town Hall ; they reached it 
without any difficulty, but the press of people was so 
great that they looked in vain for an opportunity to get 
through the crowd which lined the pavement and the 


AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. 


339 


great arched doorway, over which was a balcony reserved 
for invited guests. But Renata had a great amount of 
patience and perseverance, and it was finally rewarded by 
meeting old Mr. Leslie, mounted and dressed as one of 
the grand marshals of the procession, and he, in his old 
peremptory manner, soon had them seated in the balcony, 
where they laughed at the trouble they had had, and 
looked down with pleasure at the crowded street. 

‘‘It is beautiful, after all, to be a man,” said Renata; 
“it is so fine to have courage and go to war, and risk 
your life for others. Now see how much nobler Caspar 
and Colonel Denham are than you or I, Kettle. They 
have both been severely wounded, and have suffered pain, 
fatigue, hunger, and the risk of a sudden and horrible 
death, all for the country ; and yet, I think so little about 
'the country and all that sort of thing, that I should feel 
Lad if I went without my breakfast for it. What do you 
say?” 

There was no hearing the response, for the head of the 
procession had just come in sight, and the shouts of the 
people, the noise of the bands of music, and the occa- 
sional thunder of the cannon, which was paying a military 
salute, created such an uproar that nothing else could be 
heard. First came the Boshville police clearing the road, 
then a band of music, with leading citizens forming the 
reception committee, then came the gallant regiment 
itself, followed and surrounded by thousands of people, 
who hung garlands on the officers, and danced and shouted 
with delight. There was a pause in the storm as the men 
halted, faced about in front of the building, and pre- 
sented arms and waved their colors at the mayor upon 
the balcony. Then the men ground their arms, the 
officers advanced a little in front to receive the address, 
and there were loud cries of Silence ! silence ! so that the 


340 


THE LOST MODEL, 


men might hear the welcome. Every now and then some 
soldier would be pushed out of the ranks by the crowd 
behind him, a woman or man would embrace him and 
thrust a bunch of flowers at him, and he would struggle 
back to his position, laughing and blushing like a girl. 
This went on so frequently that the crowd, every time it 
was done, sent up a cheer which cut the mayor’s speech 
into nonsense ; and the officers resolutely shut their eyes 
to the breaches of discipline. 

The mayor, nothing daunted by the noise, shouted 
away. He was a common, uneducated fellow, and made 
his money in the shoe business, and people said generally 
that he was a much better judge of hides and leather 
than he was of soldiers or speeches. He had, however, 
taken off his hat, and shaken the hand of every male 
adult citizen in the town for at least five years, and con- 
sequently was considered a fit man to intrust with the 
charge of the city. When a man is to be elected to an 
office by the votes of a hundred thousand men, that man 
will get the honor qf the choice who is known by the 
majority of the hundred thousand, and whether he is a 
fool or a rogue is a matter of only secondary consider- 
ation. 

Renata, as she listened, heard the words, fellow- 
citizens,” ‘‘boys,” “you give it to ’em, you did,” 
“ glad to see you back,” “ covered with glory,” “home, 
war — blood — wounded — dead — hurrah ! ’ ’ 

Then the colonel made a response, which awoke such 
enthusiasm among the men that they put their caps on 
their guns, waved them in the air, and gave yell after 
yell. 

As he backed his horse, bowing gracefully to the crowd, 
and blushing even at the ladies, who waved their handker- 
chiefs and threw flowers at him, Renata confessed to 


AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. 341 

herself that he was the handsomest man on the ground, 
and she waved her handkerchief with the rest. 

‘‘Who is that in the carriage that “Caspar is talking 
to?” asked Renata, as she discovered that young man 
dismounted, and talking very earnestly with a young 
lady in a blue silk bonnet. 

“Oh, that is Miss Linwood,” said Kettle, laughing, 
“and she is a charming lady.” 

“I don’t like her a bit,” said Renata, and she frowned 
at the forward blue silk bonnet which pushed itself so 
close to Caspar. When the young man pointed out 
his sister upon the balcony, and the blue silk bonnet 
bowed repeatedly at her, Renata nodded back ; but the 
pretty wrinkles upon her forehead did not relax, nor did 
the sorrowful glance leave her eyes. 

She had been planning so many nice things which this 
girl suddenly seemed, to spoil. Caspar having only one 
hand he would want somebody to wait upon him all the 
time, to cut his meat at the table, to cut the leaves of the 
book when he read, and, in fact, Renata was not sure that 
she ought ever to let him go out alone, and that she cer- 
tainly should now attend to him like a baby. Her heart 
had yearned so long for some one to pet, and here comes 
back the one that shared her cradle with her, and comes 
back with the child’s affection which she so well remem- 
bered. And now, the vision of this intrusive Miss Lin- 
wood threatens to rob her of another of her heart’s 
aspirations. And with a great feeling of relief she 
saw the men once more form in line and march away, 
still surrounded and followed by the thousands of ex- 
cited people, who threatened every moment to break 
into their ranks and carry away in joy every man of the 
regiment. 

As the pair walked slowly home, the old housekeeper 


342 


THE LOST MODEL. 


wondered at the silence of the girl, until Renata said, 
with a very decided emphasis, — 

She need not think because she is rich she can just 
make everything dance at the chink of her money; there 
are a good many things in this world that gold cannot 
buy!” 

The old housekeeper laughed, and wanted to know 
what there was in this world that had not its price. But 
Renata was too busy fighting the shadow in her own mind 
to pay attention to anything outside of her ; and for the 
first time in her life she felt a spirit of rivalry and jealousy 
enter her heart. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN. 

It was on one of those beautiful days in the autumn or 
** fall” when, after the short grief of the squaw’s winter,” 
nature tried to delude herself and everybody else that it 
was summer after all, and that the frost, which in a 
night had strewed the ground with tender shoots, blos- 
soms, and twigs, and had painted the forest brown and 
red, was only a stray arrow of a lost arctic wind, and not 
the presage of a coming winter. It is true the birds had 
taken their flight in a southern line, the locust was silent 
in the increasing night, the grasshopper and caterpillar 
were not found on the sidewalk, and passengers no longer 
ran against the tobacco worm,” lowering himself in his 
web and cocoon from the trees which skirted the road. 
But the sun was nevertheless warm, the sky clear, the 


THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN 


343 

wind still, and the night was as light as day with the big, 
burning moon. 

Caspar and Renata were seated upon the mound, watch- 
ing from its summit the silver line of the river on one 
side, and on the other the broad, pathless entrance to 
forest and prairie. They had been visiting some neigh- 
bors, and now paused on their return at their well-known 
play-ground as upon an unchanged and unchanging 
friend. Caspar’s return had been a new joy, and the ad- 
vent of his manhood a new revelation to Renata, — she 
was in a state of constant wonderment at the bold, self- 
reliant character, which had taken the place of the way- 
ward, flickering impulsiveness with which she was familiar 
from her childhood. The little traits of selfishness had 
disappeared with the girlish voice, the fair, delicate skin, 
and the round, chubby face of a boy. 

‘‘How changed he is!” people said to her, sympa- 
thizingly j “ how ugly the hard camp-life has made him, 
and he used to be such a pretty boy ! What a pity !” 

“You Philistines!” Renata thought to herself; “his 
bronzed skin, high cheek-bones, and metallic voice are a 
thousand times handsomer than the old baby face.” And 
the moustache which the young man was always pulling 
and coaxing out, and yet came so slowly, and which,, 
whenever it came in contact with Renata’s nose, had a 
different perfume upon it, came in also for a share of the 
girl’s admiration. 

The climax of her wonder was reached when, one 
evening, Caspar asserted his claim to the new estate in 
the presence of the doctor himself. It fell out in this 
wise. He had been describing the battle at which he 
received his wound. He told how at daybreak the fire 
of musketry awoke them, how they were hastily gathered 
together and marched to where a long line of white smoke 


344 


THE LOST MODEL. 


hung over the ground, cut asunder every second by the 
flash of musket and rifle ; how hour after hour they were 
marched, now upon a hillside, then through a valley, 
where they would pause, and lie upon the ground to 
avoid the huge iron shells which constantly rent the air, 
and then through morasses, and always within sight of 
that terrible line of smoke, from which came the yells of 
angry men and the never-ending ping ! ping ! of the 
bullets. How intense was the excitement of the men, as 
they saw men fall from the ranks and crawl on their hands 
and knees to the shelter of a tree, and men would tumble 
from their saddles and lie as they fell upon the ground, 
while the riderless horse would tear across the field until 
the heavy thud of a cannon-ball would crush him also to 
the ground ; how at last the dreadful suspense was relieved 
by an order to charge ! With a cheer, they rushed for- 
ward, and in a twinkling they had reached the enemy, 
for, as the smoke was lifted, he saw a line of men in 
groups, with slouched hats and gray clothes ; they were 
so near he saw their haggard, swarthy faces, and the long, 
black barrels of their guns, when he felt a blow upon his 
hand and sword-belt that stopped his horse and made him 
scramble down from the saddle. 

“I must confess,” he added, ‘‘that when I saw the 
blood streaming down my fingers, and felt the pain creep- 
ing up my arm, and they led me back to where men were 
seated or lying upon the ground, groaning and sighing 
with pain, while the surgeons silently examined, cut, and 
dressed them, I felt all my courage gone, and I sat upon the 
ground and cried like a child. I couldn’t see the doctor 
when he passed for the tears that constantly filled my eyes. 
It was so dreadful to be in a moment taken from the ranks 
of the careless, brave living, and thrown remorselessly 
among the mutilated and writhing, wounded and dying.” 


THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN. 


345 


And, as he finished his story, he pulled from his side- 
pocket a cigar-case,, and offering it to Renata to hold 
while he took out a cigar, he coolly tore a piece of 
paper and lit and puffed the cigar right in the presence 
of the doctor himself. Whether the doctor was so ab- 
sorbed in his sympathy for the misfortune of his boy 
as not to notice the rings of tobacco-smoke which con- 
stantly rose from the young man’s lips, or whether the 
good doctor thought that so much trouble and pain 
deserved some indulgence, Renata could not tell ; at 
all events, the doctor said nothing, and Caspar’s claim 
to manhood was thoroughly and firmly established. And 
as the girl’s fears vanished, her admiration arose at the 
achievement. For it is one of the charming traits of 
the German female character, — one that is peculiar to 
them alone, — that they are born with a certain feeling 
of reverence in their hearts for the men as men, inde- 
pendent of any special claims they may make upon their 
admiration or love. But the principal joy Renata felt at 
Caspar’s return was in the sense of his companionship, 
and the feeling that he was her consolator. Her fingers 
were needed to tie the cravat and button the coat, to 
fold the letters which were constantly being written to a 
young lady whom Renata persistently avoided mention- 
ing, and to fulfill the thousand little offices which one 
hand could not successfully do alone. There were old 
friends to visit, and so many events and things to tell, 
that even the blind aching feeling at her heart was 
softened, and there was real relief in telling the grief that 
troubled her. 

As they sat together this bright autumn day upon the 
hill, he learned from her lips the story of her love for 
Parthee. It did not differ much from what Kettle, and 
even the doctor, had told him, except in the invincible 

30 


346 


THE LOST MODEL. 


faith that he would return, and that no other man on the 
earth was like him. 

Now come, Renata, so far as beauty is concerned, 
you must confess that Colonel Denham is a much hand- 
somer man than Parthee, or whatever his right name 
might be.” 

‘‘Well, it may be with man as with books,” said the 
girl, imitating the old gentleman^s habit of explaining 
everything by a simile : “ the novel that I cry over only 
makes you laugh. No one knows what beauty really is ; but 
each one feels what it is to him or her. Now, you think 
Miss Linwood pretty; I don’t.” 

“That, Schwesferchen, is what at school they used to 
call the argumeiitum ad homine7ti. But now, suppose he 
comes back. What then ? He cannot marry you. 
Neither of you could live upon a supernatural story or an 
impossible Indian yarn.” 

“ Caspar, do you know what Ferris says? That Parthee 
is a genius, and could make a great reputation as a sculp- 
tor 1” 

“Sculptor! There are no sculptors to-day, and the 
only possible use they can be here is to carve grave-stones 
and an occasional figure for a fire-engine, or something of 
that character. But now see, Renata. Denham is a man 
high in the community, a fine, brave, handsome fellow. 
He already has a fine income, and he has commenced the 
practice of the law, and, on account of his services in the 
field, there is no political office but what he can get for 
the asking ” 

“ And I am as heartily glad of that, dear Caspar, as you 
are ; I see him just as clearly as you do, and recognize his 
fine face and good heart. But my feeling for Parthee is 
another thing; it is here, here, not in my head.” And she 
placed her hand earnestly upon her heart. “No, no. 


THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN 


347 


Caspar, all those things you speak of are shadows, vain 
idle forms, that have no meaning for me. You see the 
hill beyond the river, with the slanting sunlight cutting a 
road through the deep shadows of the pines and cedars on 
its side, with the long red cloud lazily passing over it ; 
there, where that large bird is wheeling round and round. 
You and I have been there a hundred times, hunting 
arrow-heads which the Indians lost, and in summer 
gathering the pawpaws. To-day, Caspar, I cannot go 
there ; it aches me when I look at it. Parthee and I wan- 
dered once along the side, and while I plucked the wild 
flowers he told me the stories of his youth. To go there 
now without him would kill me.” 

She stopped in the vain endeavor to portray in words 
the feeling of sacredness which surrounded everything 
associated in her memory with him. 

am sorry to hear you speak in such a determined 
manner, Renata, especially as you are virtually deciding 
against Colonel Denham before you really know him. 
However, I don’t wish to pain you. I tell you what we 
will do. We will make a call upon Mr. Leslie, and see 
George, who papa says has returned, and we will find out 
about our lost model and sculptor. Besides, I would like 
to see the haughty, full-blooded Sallie since she has mar- 
ried that Tartuffe Maple. If ever there was a ‘ dead beat’ 
in this world, that fellow Maple is one. Do you remember 
the time when he feigned sickness in our house ?” 

Don’t speak of the knave,” said Renata. And she 
hurried him down the hill to the city. 

When they reached Leslie’s house, that old gentleman 
was in his garden picking the dead leaves off the beds, 
and cursing the gardener for not keeping the place in 
better order. 

The greetings over, he invited them into the house, and 


348 


THE LOST MODEL. 


as dinner was announced just at that moment, he insisted 
they should take part in the meal. As they both well 
knew Mr. Leslie to be well stocked with that democratic 
virtue which consists in domineering over everybody else, 
they yielded with the best grace possible. In passing 
through the sitting-room, they came upon a young man, 
smoking a cigar, and seated in front of a table over which 
were strewed the hooks, lines, and other necessary imple- 
ments in a fishing excursion. 

“Are you acquainted with George, Captain Knappe? 
George, this is our friend. Dr. Knappe’s, daughter Renata, 
— you must remember her, — and Captain Knappe, her 
brother. Do you notice the strong resemblance they bear 
to the old doctor?” 

A tall, gaunt youth, with deep-set eyes, a long, straight 
nose, and a mouth square and firmly set, arose and shook 
hands with them in silence. Renata’s heart beat so 
loudly at hearing the name, that she scarcely dared to 
look in the face of this young man, whose words on this 
occasion would perhaps decide her life. He had been 
the companion of Parthee, and the one who had found 
him, and sent him here, and some of the radiance of her 
lover fell over him. He gave her a long, eager stare, and 
then, turning to Caspar, above whom he rose a head and 
shoulders, he inquired his regiment, and whether he was in 
the volunteers or the regulars. 

“Come on,” said Leslie, “I want my dinner; and 
what you have to say to each other, you can say it just as 
well at the table as here !” 

At the dining-room door they were met by Sallie, who 
looked fat, and somewhat flushed with her household 
duties. She kissed Renata quite cordially, and made a 
dozen rapid inquiries about her and her father ; and then, 
without waiting for an answer, did the same to Caspar, 


The price of an Indian. 


349 


whom she installed at her right hand at the table. As 
this was the seat usually occupied by her husband, Leslie 
asked where he was. 

Business, I presume,” she answered, curtly. 

‘‘It is the first time that I ever knew his prayers inter- 
fere with his meals,” said her father, with a laugh. 

“Oh, well, father, try and be satisfied some time or 
another. When he is here, his solemn looks spoil your 
appetite, and when he is away, you are sarcastic about his 
profession.” 

“Yes, and I don’t want any clerks. I’ll say what I 
please, and if it hurts your sensibilities, use cotton, and 
don’t hear it !” thundered the old man. Then turning 
to Renata: “Sit down by George, — his conversation 
won’t spoil your dinner; will it, George?” 

The young man laughed, and said, “ Never you mind. 
Miss Knappe and I are a little afraid of each other at 
present, but when we know one another better ” 

“I’ll guarantee you won’t talk at all. See what is in 
that side-dish. No pork in this succotash. Of course, 
when I praise a dish, that is its epitaph ; you never see it 
on the table again. Give me some tomatoes. Why didn’t 
you bring the colonel with you. Captain Knappe? I’ve 
known him from a child, and there is not a better man in 
Boshville. There, don’t pile everything on my plate ! 
I’ve got the power of speech, and I am not afraid to ask 
twice. Why don’t you help Miss Renata, George? If 
you cannot entertain with wit, my boy, give her some- 
thing to eat.” 

Renata thought that dinner would never end. The old 
man, not content with being helped to the best, and 
being helped first, and having three times as much as 
anybody else, monopolized the talk, and domineered as 
fast as he stuffed. Once or twice the son and father came 

30* 


350 


THE LOST MODEL. 


near having a violent dispute, but the young man’s indif- 
ference to the theme finally prevailed, and he gave in 
first. And it was with a feeling of the keenest relief 
that they saw Leslie rise up; and, as he stood by the 
door, picking his teeth, he said, in the usual imperative 
manner, — 

^‘I’m not going out this evening; so you can come 
up-stairs and entertain me; do you hear?” And he 
banged the door behind him. 

“No wonder,” thought Renata to herself, “this young 
man prefers the woods ^nd prairie, and the bears and buf- 
falo, to that selfish old man !” 

Caspar had turned the conversation of his hostess to 
the absent Maple; and, little by little, the bones of the 
skeleton which haunted her domestic circle were being 
displayed. It appeared that the elegant Maple was very 
much adored by the younger, and especially the female, 
portion of his flock. There was always some cross old 
deacon who was interfering with and troubling him. Some- 
times these old deacons would object that he was paying 
too much attention to the young married women of the 
congregation, and too little attention to the bills of the 
tradesmen ; and sometimes they would find fault with 
him because he drank beer, and smoked, and went to the 
opera and to all the concerts ; in short, these terrible 
deacons were just now troubling the life out of Maple. 

There was an occasional vein of reproach, and a series 
of sighs, which ran through the young woman’s story, 
which told Caspar pretty plainly that the deacons’ side of 
the complaint was not entirely disbelieved by the young 
wife, and that the roving Maple might, some day, find 
in his thoughtless, easy wife the most terrible deacon of 
them all. 

Renata, with real tact, had turned the conversation of 


THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN. 


351 


her companion to the far West and its inhabitants. Be- 
neath the influence of the Catawba wine and the pretty 
face of his neighbor, the barrier of silence and mask of 
indifference which this young man constantly turned to- 
ward the good citizens of Boshville was slowly melting 
away ; and, fo the astonishment of his sister Sallie, she 
heard him open his budget of the past, and speak of 
border-men and border-life for the first time since his 
return. It was a hyena’s life, told by a hyena. Forest, 
prairie, gulch, canon, valley, and mountain-peak were 
simply places where men looked for gold, played cards, 
fought with knives, and killed buffaloes for their food, and 
killed Indians for hatred. No wonder, thought Renata to 
herself, that furrows were on his forehead, and there were 
' pleats on the side of his mouth and nostrils. The sun 
never rose or set for border-men ; there were no constel- 
lations for them ; the seasons never changed, the flowers 
never bloomed, and the clouds never massed, flitted, or 
gathered like giant armies upon fields of blood for them. 
They knew less about these things than the mountain- 
wolf, and they cared^ less for them than the prairie-dog. 
Adventure followed adventure from the young man’s lips, 
and the kernel of it was always a meal or a murder. Of 
Parthee he told little or nothing, except the regret that 
he had not seen him before he left. Bear Cloud and his 
followers he indignantly denounced, and the ominous 
words which he closed with were never forgotten : 

‘‘I’ll tell ye what. Bear Cloud and the Pawpaws are 
off their reservations. They’ve got plenty of ammunition, 
and they will make a raid upon every white settlement 
west of the Black Hills. There are Southern men among 
’em, and they think that now, while we are fighting among 
ourselves, they can wipe us out. Bear Cloud will, perhaps, 
have from one to two thousand braves, and they’ll make 


352 


THE LOST MODEL. 


it lively at the opening of the ball. But we will dance 
the last set. They are raising a regiment of bushwhackers 
and border-fellows ; and these, with a squadron of regular 
cavalry, will run ’em, until not a hide or a hair will be 
left. We know what we are about in this matter. We 
are going to put a stop to this thing right here, and we 
will take the lop off old Bear Cloud’s head, and plant his 
fighting youngsters in a row like corn. You bet !” 

When Renata timidly inquired if any definite news had 
been heard lately of the rebellious Bear Cloud, — 

‘^Oh, yes; father told me this morning there was a 
dispatch from Colonel Snow, — that he had tracked and 
shut up Bear Cloud and a big party in a blind canon, and 
that he would bag or kill every one of ’em. Oh, no, 
there is no chance for those fellows ! When you offer ten 
dollars for the scalp of an Indian, fate itself could not 
save his hair. Parthee has a knack of getting out of such 
scrapes, but he is as well known among the white settlers 
as Bear Cloud himself ; he never dare show himself this 
side of the Rocky Mountains.” 

He told a good many other things to Caspar and Re-^ 
nata, after they had left the table, about his old life ; but 
the girl’s interest had vanished ; and that night, as they 
walked home together, Caspar had not courage to ap- 
proach the theme again, and he let her walk by his side 
in silence, lost in a painful reverie. 


THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 


353 


• CHAPTER XIV. 

THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE AND A MARRIAGE IS 
LAID. 

‘‘And this is your new law-ofi^ce, colonel?” said Cas- 
par, one morning, to Colonel Denham, as he surveyed a 
room in the Law Building, which had been newly car- 
peted, papered, and upon the glass door of which was 
painted the name of the occupant, with the addition of 
‘ ‘ Attorney-at-Law. ’ * 

“Yes, Caspar; the sword has been hung up over the 
fire-place, and the banner is folded away in the armory ; 
and, instead of killing the human race, I intend to help 
them wrangle, or litigate, as we call it. I expect that 
some of my old comrades will be my clients, for, unless 
the war has changed your countrymen very much, a Ger- 
man does not turn around more than twice without con- 
sulting his lawyer.” 

Caspar glanced at three large book-cases, which reached 
from the floor to the ceiling, and filled up two sides of 
the room, and which w'ere laden and filled with sheepskin- 
bound books, with red and black labels ; some were black 
from time and usage, and others were clean and white from 
the press. After reading a few of their titles, he said, — 

“ Whew ! colonel, the law must be more complicated 
and diffuse than medicine. I notice father has a volume 
upon every disease, but here seems to be dozens upon the 
same topic.” 

“We are a good deal more numerous than the Jews 


354 


THE LOST MODEL. 


were when Moses gave them their laws upon two ordi- 
nary-sized grave-stones, according to the pictorial repre- 
sentations of that event ; and yet, Caspar, I am inclined to 
think that the principles of our laws could be written on 
the same surface, although the decisions of our judges a^d 
assemblies would cover the Alps. In any civilized country 
in the world an educated lawyer will be able to tell you 
the laws governing the conveyance of chattels, realtind 
personal, no matter whether you ask one on the coast of 
the country or in the capital. Here, such a thing is 
almost impossible. Each State has its own laws, its own 
legislature, its own supreme court and inferior tribunals, 
where it enunciates decrees in utter disregard of the de- 
crees and judgments pronounced by the remaining three 
dozen sovereignties ; and it is as much as an ordinary man 
can do to make himself familiar with the laws and decisions 
of his own State, and let the rest take care of themselves. 
To come down to the facts, I can draw you up a deed for 
the conveyance of land here, and instruct you how it 
ought to be acknowledged ; but if your land lies one mile 
away, that is to say, in another State, I am helpless in the 
matter. You must go to the spot and inquire of the family 
lawyer. Then, again, there is a dreadful conflict between 
the forty supreme courts upon the same point or question 
of controversy; the very propositions which one gives as 
the sufficient reason of its judgment is the cause of a con- 
tradictory result by another. And you literally consult 
your ease and take your choice. There is more homoge- 
neity in the federal judicial law ; because the bench is 
more prudently selected and better organized. And there 
is another of the anomalies of our civilization. The judges 
in the federal courts are appointed by the President for 
life, or at least during good behavior; and they pass 
upon commercial, international, legal, and political ques- 


THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 35 ^ 

tions, and very rarely upon the lives and liberties of the 
citizens. On the contrary, the State judges, upon whose 
shoulders rest nine-tenths of the judicial business of the 
land, — and where the lives and liberties of the citizens are 
daily involved, — are elected for a few years by the people. 
The people, my dear Caspar, are neither wise nor learned, 
and their sole guidance in these matters is good old 
mother rumor ; and that is the reason why in the mayor’s 
court you will find old Jesse Blade, the coal-dealer, dis- 
pensing justice with a shovel, and in the common pleas 
old necessity sits, the man who knows no law, as the bar 
humorously insist.” 

“Well, colonel, there ain’t much bashfulness on the 
part of the politician to make rumor tolerably well ac- 
quainted with his virtues, is there?” 

“Oh, no; an(k I am inclined to think that when the 
time comes I shall be no Coriolanus. So that the bash- 
fulness of the lover will be compensated by the forwardness 
of the maiden.” 

“Well, colonel, no more nights in the corn-field, 
under a drizzling rain, with a wet blanket for a comfort ; 
no more days in rifle-pits, and creeping in trenches 
with the mud a foot deep; no more foraging expedi- 
tions, in which twenty mounted men bring back to 
camp one small chicken ; no more night alarms, and 
hopeless wandering through marsh and wood and river ; 
and last but not least, no more ‘ fronts,’ in which 
the deadly ping ! ping ! pierces even the cruel yells 
of victory.” 

The colonel made no answer, for his thoughts were busy 
upon the changes wrought in his own circumstances. The 
family mansion gone, a mother lost, and a brother out- 
lawed, — it was hard to tell who was the victor. 

“Yes,” he added, after a few moments, “all that is 


356 


THE LOST MODEL. 


over, my boy; and another kind of fight commences. 
What have you been doing these last few days?” 

‘‘ Helping the doctor to make out some bills, and trying 
to understand the plans of his new house. He promises 
himself a great deal of assistance from you in this latter 
matter, as he says you have ideas ; whereas Renata and I 
only quarrel with his plans, without suggesting anything 
better.” After a few moments’ silence, Caspar added, 

And, colonel, father wants to see you; he and Renata 
had a long conversation about you, and — it is all right.” 

hope, Caspar, that your father did not use his 
authority over her mind ; for, with all my selfishness in 
the matter, her choice only is what I desire.” 

Oh, no, no ! Nothing of that, colonel. It is what I 
always told you. She really likes you ; but, then, she is 
so confounded obstinate that she won’t give in. Why, 
look at it. There was nothing in that fellow Parthee for 
any girl with sense to admire. You know that. No, it 
is just obstinacy, and nothing else. Why, the little puss 
would not kiss my girl when I brought her down the 
other day, but sat bolt upright in a chair, with her hands 
folded in her lap like a school-mistress.” 

“Your girl?” echoed the'colonel. 

“ Why, yes; the pretty Miss Linwood !” (Twirling the 
end of his moustache.) “A mighty nice girl, too, I tell 
you. Oh, I have known her from childhood. She 
writes beautiful letters ; I will show you some of them 
one of these days.” 

“Why doesn’t Renata like her?” 

. “ Simply because she is rich. Father likes her very 
much. The more he praises her the more Schwesterchen 
runs her down. Obstinacy, and nothing else. You ought 
to have heard the lecture I got because I kissed her in 
the hall ; she insisted I ought to wait until I was married. 


THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE, 357 

Oh, she is a funny puss !” And the young man laughed 
heartily at the remembrance. 

*‘But come, colonel, let us go down, as I promised to 
bring you for dinner, and they will wait for us.” 

At the house, the colonel was cordially welcomed by 
Renata, who, in her large housekeeper’s apron and with 
glowing cheeks, looked prettier than ever. She was busy 
making paper lanterns after the Chinese fashion, and 
working, arranging, and combining long strips of red, 
blue, and white paper into all kinds of wreaths, rosettes, 
and garlands, for the coming celebration of the great 
peace festival. 

The doctor’s office was literally covered with flags, and 
various colored papers and linens in a state of transition ; 
and in one corner sat the doctor, edged off from the rest 
of the confusion by a large table covered with drawings 
and writing-materials. The doctor was also glad to see 
them, for it appeared that he was busy studying his plans 
and plats for a new house ; and, as usual with him, he 
never could come to any conclusion in the matter unless 
he had thoroughly discussed it with somebody else. Not 
that he wanted to follow their advice in the matter, but 
to gain confidence and to be hardened in his own opinion. 
And on this occasion he no sooner unfolded his wishes 
and intention to Renata than, as usual, a dispute had 
occurred, in which the doctor had been' worsted, and he 
had retreated to the corner, and taken up the specifica- 
tions furnished him by the builder’s lawyer, and had been 
reading them out loud so as to understand them better. 

‘‘Now, papa,” said Renata, cheerfully, “here is the 
colonel, who has houses of his own, and, of course, knows 
how they ought to be built and which are the best ; now 
please tell him about the bids, and see if he won’t say 
that I have right in the matter.” 

31 


358 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I am quite willing to act as arbitrator, but my knowl- 
edge of house-building is so limited, that my opinion in 
the affair will not amount to much.” 

**Well, colonel, come round to this side of the table 
and I’ll explain it to you, and you will then see what 
that girl calls a big piece of nonsense. Now, here are 
the plans and specifications.” 

“Yes,” interrupted Renata, “this is the way the house 
will look outside, and this the inside, provided you look 
down from the ceiling.” 

“The house,” continued the doctor, “will stand on 
the corner of three streets. Here runs Moral Street, here 
Patriot Avenue, and on this side the great Astronomical 
Road is being cut.” 

“Which I tell papa is not an advantage. For in the 
morning the sun blazes on this side, in the afternoon on 
this one, and then the sunset is right on our back porch,” 
said Renata, pointing with her scissors to the various 
points on the plans. “ ^ Oh, Schwesterchen^ the sun will 
do us no harm ; our house will always be dry and well 
aired,’ — eh, papa?” 

The doctor nodded. “I bought this lot of old John 
Smith, and I will tell you how I came to buy it. You 
must remember when I first came to this town all this 
part of the city was woods and meadows ; there was a 
creek on this side of the hill that I have often seen the 
boys fishing in. Well, that is at least twenty-five years 
ago. Now, at that time I noticed, and you must have 
heard of it ” 

“Oh, papa, don’t give a history of the city; because, 
by that time, we will all forget what we were talking about ; 
besides. Colonel Denham certainly knows as much about 
it as we do.” 

“There it is! You see one cannot speak calmly and 


THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 359 

lucidly over anything. The time has absolutely gone 
by when you can tell the simplest thing in a plain and 
thorough manner.” And he looked hopelessly at the 
colonel. 

Well, now let me tell it, and if I make a mistake, 
you correct it. Here are the plans for the new house, — 
the specifics I don’t understand. Papa asked two of the 
principal builders in Boshville what they would do the 
brick-work for in this new house, and he gave them the 
drawings of the architect. Papa receives two letters, 
which he calls the ‘bids.’ One says. Doctor Knappe, I 
will do the brick-work for fifteen hundred dollars ; the 
other says, I will do it for two thousand dollars. Now 
comes the question. I says to papa, give the work to 
the lowest bidder ; he says no, he will either lose money 
by it or he will do bad work. Then I say, dear papa, 
rather than worry about it, give it to the highest bidder. 
Then he says the other man will find it out, and he will 
get angry, and papa will gain his ill-will. Now, he pro- 
poses to go to the lowest bidder, show him the letter 
from the other one, and ask him to explain why he put 
it down so low, and that is what I call a piece of non- 
sense.” And she went back to her work upon the Chinese 
lanterns. 

“I will explain, I will give you my reasons for it,” 
said the doctor, now thoroughly warmed with his theme. 
“ The highest bidder is Jones, one of the wealthiest men 
in Boshville, and, as you know, one who has built more 
houses than any other man in the city. The lowest bid 
is from a German, named Hoffmeister, a poor but a good 
mechanic. Now, Hoffmeister not having had the actual 
experience of Jones, may have made a miscalculation, 
and if I should hold him to his contract, who knows but 
rather than lose money by it he might put in bad brick 


360 the lost model. 

or do the work poorly? Because Jones, being wealthy, 
can certainly afford to do it as cheap as anybody else ; 
and if he cannot do it for less than two thousand dollars, 
— and he tells me he cannot, — why, then nobody else 
can. Isn’t that a plain and reasonable proposition ?” 

I don’t see it so plain, papa,” muttered Renata, from 
the other side of the room. 

“ Sei still ! Lasz 7nich sprechen^ willst du thundered 
the doctor, his large blue eyes fairly rolling with the 
excitement. 

The colonel, when the opportunity came, proposed a 
compromise, and that was, that he should get from a third 
builder another proposition, and that would no doubt 
throw some light on the other two. This the doctor 
readily accepted, and Kettle soon after calling them to 
dinner, the little discussion was as utterly forgotten as 
though it had never occurred. 

Very much to Denham’s delight, and which augured 
well for the result of the doctor’s conversation with Re- 
nata, the latter was quite cordial with the young man. 
She sat beside him at table, and in her naive and earnest 
manner showed an interest and attention that he had 
never received before. It is true, when the conversation 
turned upon the war, and each in turn narrated some ad- 
venture which befell him, she was silent and distant, and 
the lightest of sighs would arise at intervals and protest 
against the themes ; but these were but passing clouds, 
which only made the sunshine more precious. Knowing 
the doctor’s impulsive and ingenuous nature, Denham was 
afraid that every moment, and without the slightest warn- 
ing, the doctor would announce the result of his inter- 
view with Renata, and Denham’s fate, with the same 
frankness that he told everything which concerned him- 
self. And although his anxiety was so intense to know 


THE FOUNDATION FOR A' NEW HOUSE. 361 

the result that it took away his appetite, and prevented 
him from following with much attention the various dis- 
quisitions into which the doctor broke, he was decidedly 
averse to being either publicly executed or rewarded. 

Fortunately for Denham, the doctor’s attention was not 
drawn in that direction ; and, as he was in the habit of 
analyzing, discussing, weighing, and contemplating each 
subject so long as there was a thread in it to hold it by, 
there was not much fear of his stumbling across it in 
search for new subjects to talk about. Once he overheard 
Renata — it was just after Caspar had described Denham’s 
new law-office — repeating to herself the well-known for- 
mula by which young girls find out the occupations of 
their future husbands, viz., doctor, lawyer, tailor, rich 
man, etc. ; but as the others did not hear it, it es- 
caped public discussion. After dinner the doctor invited 
Denham to ride with him, to which the latter very readily 
assented, as he supposed it was simply for an opportunity 
to convey the desired information. 

The dqptor, however, was a victim to the association 
of ideas, and was emphatically a man of one idea. And 
while the present theme occupied the memory and con- 
templation of the good man, nothing else could get 
beneath the focus of his attention. For years he had 
cherished the desire of having a large, handsome room in 
which to exhibit his engravings and to entertain an occa- 
sional quartette; and, as he could find no room which 
satisfied his demands of light and arrangement for sound, 
he had determined to build one, and thus the plan for a 
new house arose. The next beloved object of his life was 
to make a great catalogue, one that should be more com- 
prehensive than Nagler, and more accurate and exhaustive 
than Bartch ; and how could he achieve this great task 
unless he had some place where, with pictures and books 

31^ 


362 


THE LOST MODEL, 


within reach, he could think quietly and undisturbed over 
his subject and mode of treatment ? Hence a new house 
was indispensable, and in this new house should be one 
room without its equal, so far as comfort, light, and 
acoustics were concerned. 

Consequently Denham, on the tiptoe of expectation, 
was dreadfully disappointed that afternoon, for the good 
man never came within sailing distance of his love-affair, 
and motives of delicacy kept Denham silent. The first 
place the doctor drove to was the lot where the new house 
was to be built ; and there, with the plan opened in his 
hand, he strode around and around it, explaining and 
soliloquizing over it. The doctor was very well known 
in that part of the city, and as he was delighted to talk to 
anybody and everybody, always provided they discussed 
his theme, he soon had a crowd around him. The tailor, 
who had a shop near the doctor’s lot, came out in his 
shirt-sleeves and critically examined the doctor’s plan, 
and urged the doctor to have a stone front in preference 
to a brick ; the saloon-keeper on the opposite cprner sug- 
gested that he should build a hall in the third story, and 
rent it out to balls and public meetings. One or two 
doctors driving by, stopped, and good-naturedly entered 
into a discussion as to whether sewers were better than 
cesspools, and the various merits of frame and brick 
houses. To every new-comer the doctor told his story, 
and asked for his opinion, and, as the bystanders had less 
patience than the doctor, if the opinion differed very 
much from those already delivered it met with a very 
lively reception. In spite of Denham’s chagrin, he was 
still very much amused at the proceedings, as he saw the 
doctor and the crowd swaying backwards and forwards 
over the lot of ground, gesticulating and debating as 
though it were a matter of life and death. Denham 


THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 363 

was wondering how on earth he could either get away 
himself or bring the doctor off, when, fortunately, the 
approaching noise of a brass-band of music not only 
called off the attention of the crowd, but made the 
horse so restive that Denham managed to hustle the 
doctor into the buggy and drive away from the attractive 
spot. 

The doctor was tolerably silent for the rest of the drive, 
either from exhaustion, or because he was busy contem- 
plating the information which he had just received, and 
which he claimed was really very valuable ; so that they 
came back as they went, so far as the question of Renata 
was concerned. And it was only by an accident that the 
doctor remembered it ; which, by the by, was the usual 
way in which everything happened in his life. Critically 
examined, there never was any trace of design in anything 
he ever said or did ; it always fell out, as it were, by acci- 
dent. On this occasion, he had asked the housekeeper, 
Kettle, where Caspar had gone, and was informed that 
he was with his fiancee Miss Linwood. 

“That reminds me,” said the doctor, blushing, “that 
I have good news to tell you. Colonel Denham ; it escaped 
my attention, or I would have told it to you before. 
Come in my room and sit down, and I’ll explain it all.” 

The result of this explanation, without following the 
doctor into the elaborate details of the narrative, was that 
Renata, upon the condition that he waited a year, and 
that Parthee did not return in that time, would be his 
bride. The doctor insisted that it was more her feeling of 
conscientiousness for her promise to Parthee than her love 
for him which caused the delay ; although he was forced 
to admit that when she spoke of Parthee, there was a 
light in her eyes and an earnestness in her manner which 
astounded him. 


3^4 


THE LOST MODEL. 


As Denham remained silent and embarrassed when the 
desired explanation was given, and the doctor not exactly 
comprehending how far he was authorized to speak of 
Renata’s feeling for him, he concluded to tell her, and in 
her presence repeated the subject of the communication 
to Denham/ 

She stood by the side of Denham with folded hands, 
and listened with downcast eyes to her father as he 
slowly and deliberately unfolded his own wishes and her 
promise in the matter; once or twice, when Parthee’s 
name was mentioned, her lips trembled with suppressed 
emotion, and when her father took her hand and placed 
it in Denham’s hand, she smiled, although the tears 
chased each other down her still glowing cheeks. 

“Yes,” she said, slowly, “Harry Denham, if you will 
w^ait a year I will be your wife.” 

“But, dear Renata,” interrupted the young man, 
kindly, “don’t speak it with that desperate air. I not 
only want you, but your whole heart. If you still feel 
that this Parthee, whom I confess I cannot associate, 
even in my imagination, as a person fit to be your hus- 
band, — still, if you feel in your heart that he and he only 
is the one you love, why, then, my dear child, you must 
not engage yourself to me. Speak frankly ; you and I are 
old friends, — almost boy and girl in our long associa- 
tion, — what you say I will respect, and a mistake can be 
corrected better now than a year hence. Speak freely, 
shall we be lovers or only friends ? Do you wish further 
time to think over it? You shall have ten years instead 
of one, if you desire it.” 

“ Of all the men I have ever seen, with the one excep- 
tion, you are the dearest ; and I know you so well and 
esteem you so highly, that your offer flatters me more 
than I know how to express. But the truth is, I am in- 


THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 365 

J nocent in these matters. Parthee may be, as father says, 
only an adventurer; he may not love me, — perhaps I 
^ misunderstand him, — and when I try to think definitely 
I of what he did say, I confess it arises in my memory like 
a dream, and the more I think the more it eludes me. 
But you will have patience with me, — I have much to 
learn, — and in one year — if I hear nothing more of him 
— I, too, will treat it as a dream only ; and, who knows ? 
perhaps I may, as Caspar says, laugh at it as at a shadow. ’ ’ 
And she wiped away the tears that still blinded her. 

I ‘‘Shadows, indeed!” said the doctor, indignantly; 
^ “she twitted me the other day about fighting shadows; 
j. when, as poor Redwood used to say, they are the only 
I real things in this world. According to Plato, as you 
! know very well, Colonel Denham, ideas are the real 
J things; it is only the outside accidents which are the 
I veritable shadows.” 

[ That evening the doctor had a quartette, and Renata 
I sat by the side of Denham and listened to his plans for 
[ the future; and when the wine was brought and the 
Y doctor came over to them and whispered a toast to the 
“ Verloburg,” Renata drank a little, and smiled with the 
old innocent grace and beauty. 


366 


THE LOST MODEL. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE PROMISE KEPT AND BROKEN. 

A LONG, sultry summer had just passed over Bosh vi lie 
and its indefatigable inhabitants, and the city looked as 
dry and as crisp as the autumn leaves which fluttered and 
fell upon the sidewalks. The sun had been very busy the 
last four months, and had succeeded in scorching the 
tops of the shade-trees which lined the avenues of the 
city, and in parching the macadamized roads, so that a 
fly, when it alighted, almost raised a cloud of dust ; and 
in browning the grass in the little gardens, and what was 
worse, so far as the business of the city was concerned, in 
almost drying up the mighty river, until it looked like an 
insolvent creek. This river was always a mauvais sujet in 
the minds of a great many citizens of Boshville. “ In 
the spring and commencement of winter,” they would 
complain, querulously, “ the confounded river is a mile 
wide ; she covers the levee, rushes into our cellars, and 
sometimes floods the streets in the lower part of the city, 
so that we are occupied in removing our goods out of her 
reach ; and then, in the summer and fall, she falls so low 
that, if you had a good-sized sponge, you could sop her 
up until she was as dry as the inside of your hat, and no 
boat that requires water to float is shallow enough to move 
an inch upon her.” 

We once overheard an old white-headed merchant 
make the following replj^ to a stranger, who stood upon 
the levee, admiring the curve and flow of the great river : 


THE PROMISE KEPT AND BROKEN, 


367 

‘‘ Oh, yes, she is pretty to look at just now; but, con- 
found her ! I have lost a heap of money by her, just a 
heap ! * Why, sir, last spring, when trade was picking up 
a little, I had a cargo of salt come here ; the river having 
a very good stage of water. I hired a gang of men to 
unload the boat, and they laid the sacks of salt over two 
hundred feet from the edge of the water. They had just 
got them all ashore, piled up about twenty feet high, 
when I found the river rising so rapidly that it was within 
a few feet of the pile. I went to work, hired another 
gang of men, and had them placed high and dry upon 
the top of the levee, and they hadn’t been there more 
than an hour when up she comes, and before I could get 
another gang of men to remove them the water had 
reached the lower tier. Well, as it was getting late that 
night, I packed them in yonder warehouse, on a lot of 
bar’ls, way up, you see, in the city, and in the morning, 
sir, when I came down-town, you couldn’t see nary sack 
for water. All gone, sir.” And he shook his head at 
the river in a threatening manner. And it was the pre- 
vailing belief in Boshville that the river was made by 
God to be a highway for commerce and a conduit to the 
reservoir, and any variation from these duties on the part 
of the river was treated as a sin and a disgrace. 

The effect of the long summer was pretty plain upon 
the houses and people of Boshville ; the former were 
as dry and close as ovens, and the latter moved lan- 
guidly about, and hadn’t so much energy as the black 
roaches, which, at nightfall, formed in lines and marched 
from house to house. The torrid, sultry summer seems 
to be a special favor to the insect world. After a very 
hot day, the locust will screech and spin in the tree-top, 
until it sounds like a knife-grinder reducing a pair of 
shears to scissors; and the grasshopper will tilt against 


368 


THE LOST MODEL. 


your hat so violently that the fur flies. We really believe 
that if the sun had a fair chance at it, the sharded beetle 
could be turned into a buffalo in a season or two ; such 
an awful power of life-development lies in that lumin- 
ary as respects the lower forms of organic life. But an 
atmospheric change was coming, for that evening the sun 
went down behind a solid hill of clouds, slowly rising 
from the west ; upon the edge and through the sides of 
which lightning played and pierced, and nearer crept 
the rumbling thunder. 

Our friend. Doctor Knappe, stood upon his balcony, 
and noticed, with a discontented look, the signs of the ap- 
proaching storm, for there were few things nowadays but 
what came malapropos to the worthy doctor. He was 
entitled, however, to some excuse for grumbling on this 
occasion, as it was the evening upon which his daughter 
Renata was to be married to Harry Denham. The year 
had passed, and from Parthee no tidings had come; 
nothing but the rumors of the annihilation of the tribe of 
Indians which it was known he had followed. And, with 
the exception of Renata, the traces of Parthee’s visit to 
Boshville were daily becoming fainter in the memories of 
his friends, and their accounts of ..him became more and 
more fantastic. 

When Ferris was asked what had become of his lost 
model, the old sculptor would say, dubiously, “ Gone to 
his nest. Some young sprig of Spanish nobility, I take it, 
— here incog, until his creditors were satisfied, and the 
avaricious father or uncle dead, and the rich inheritance 
arrived.” And he told how he once found a German 
count as a bar-tender in a coffee-house in San Francisco. 
Mrs. Bovine declared he was an adventurer ; and hinted 
that there were several high families in Boshville who 
had suffered by his presence and gallantry. For it was 


THE PROMISE KEPT AND BROKEN. 369 

one of the idiosyncrasies of this virtuous lady, that she 
doubted the purity of every other man and woman in 
Boshville. 

Old Leslie still believed in him, and he would tell over 
and over again Parthee’s miraculous appearance upon the 
plains ; and once, when the young Leslie burst out in a 
loud guffaw at the story, the old man threw a decanter 
at him, to teach him better manners. What young Leslie 
thought (if the vague procession of ideas through the 
young man’s head was entitled to that term) of Par- 
thee he never told. When invited to the wedding, he 
excused himself upon the ground that he was getting 
ready for a big fall hunt, and his party would leave St. 
Louis shortly for that purpose, and he was very anxious 
to be there. 

The old doctor agreed with Ferris, that the young man 
was of a noble family, and was here to escape the con- 
sequences of some youthful escapade ; and that he would 
ever return he had not the slightest idea. He had recog- 
nized, however, the terrible hold Parthee had upon his 
daughter’s mind and heart; and for one year he had 
worked energetically and incessantly to rescue her from 
what he termed the slough of an unrequited passion. He 
held a council of deliberation the day after her engage- 
ment with Denham; the council consisted of the old 
housekeeper, Caspar, and himself. He explained that it 
was simply a question of mental and moral hygiene, and 
that the remedy was simple and only required unremitting 
attention. 

**The other night,” said the doctor, describing his 
diagnosis and the intended treatment, — “the other night 
at the theatre, when that silly piece of declamation the 
Lady of Lyons’ was being performed, why, she sobbed 
so loud that I had to take her out of the place; and even 

32 


370 


THE LOST MODEL. 


an organ under her window grinding out ‘Where are now 
the hopes I cherished?’ will make her dash up-stairs to 
her room, where she cries like a child with the ear-ache. 
Now, this must be broken up, and you must all assist. 
This kind of feeling is a disease of the mind, and we 
must drive it out by force of counter-irritants. There 
must be no more mopings alone in her room, no wander- 
ings on that hill yonder, and no more sentimental poetry, 
no, not even if Tennyson wrote it. I have invited Miss 
Linwood to come and spend a month or so, and she 
will share with Renata her room, and as she is a young 
lady of a good deal of plain practical sense, she will be ar 
great help to us. Then again, she must go out oftener, 
and I intend to take her to see the ‘ Lady of Lyons’ until 
she laughs at the famous description of Lake Como, and 
the prince with the paper collar and painted lips and 
eyebrows !” 

There is no necessity of repeating here all the doctor’s 
plans in regard to Renata; it will suffice to say that they 
were the result of much thought and earnest discussion 
with a few enlightened friends, and that they were 
entered upon with enthusiasm, and, so far as an outsider 
could judge from Renata’s appearance, they met with 
entire success. This very morning, when she returned 
from a visit to good old Pastor Kreuzer, who had been 
preparing her for the duties of her new position, the old 
smile of radiance had returned to her face, and there was 
the same innocent glance of interest in everything human 
which belonged to her blue eyes by nature. Of course 
all the credit of the change must not be given to the 
doctor, when the lover was fairly entitled to the largest 
share. There was a wonderful charm in Denham’s quiet, 
earnest mafiner, and it was as impossible to come in 
daily contact with his kind and genial nature, and his 


THE PROMISE KEPT AND BROKEN 


371 


original and intelligent thoughts, without loving him, as it 
would be to see great beauty and not admire and long 
for it. 

It was something new and absorbing to Renata to assist 
and take part in that constant daily culture which it is 
the peculiar privilege of a few to desire and enjoy, and 
to find herself every day crowded toward a horizon which 
widened with new and irresistible objects of interest, 
until yesterday’s narrow delight was like Boshville beside 
the Athens of the days of Pericles. 

But we must return to our friend the doctor, whom we 
introduced at the commencement of this chapter as sur- 
veying with dissatisfied looks the lowering clouds and 
presages of a coming thunder-storm. As he passed into 
his studio, he was joined by Mrs. Bovine, Caspar, and 
a young lady. 

‘^Well, doctor,” said the former, “your daughter is 
fixed up, and is prettier now than she ever was in her 
life before, or ever will be again. We had quite a time 
with her, to make her wear a bit of colored ribbon ; 
we finally compromised on a flower. She is all in 
white, except her cheeks, which are all aglow, — with 
the fever, I presume, peculiar to young ladies when 
they get married. She begged us to leave her now, 
as she has something to say to the ^ Liebe Gott^' and 
so we left her.” 

“ Poor child !” said the young lady, “she has worried 
herself so much the whole day, about leaving you and 
(Jaspar; and then when she returns you will be in your 
new house, and she feels as bad at leaving the house as 
her friends, so we left her to herself for an hour.” 

“Thank you, Miss Linwood. You have been of great 
assistance to us; and without you and Mrs. Bovine I 
don’t know that we could have got through this day.” 


372 


THE LOST MODEL. 


** For my part, I must confess the day of marriage had 
no terrors for me,” said Mrs. Bovine, with a scornful 
shake of the head. 

“Whatever it had for the doctor,” said Caspar, laugh- 
ingly. 

“I don’t see why,” said Mrs. Bovine, eyeing with a 
critical look Miss Linwood as she pinned a rose upon the 
lapel of Caspar’s coat, “another young couple don’t get 
married at the same time, and thus get all the fuss over at 
once.” 

While the young couple laughed and whispered together, 
the doctor gave the answer. 

“Now that is precisely what troubles the people of this 
age. They want everything at once. They want the 
school-days over; then they want the courtship cut short, 
and the marriage hurried on ; then the mother’s duties 
must be left out, and life turned into a ball-room galop, 
in which ” 

“ If the man is handsome, doctor, and the music good, 
one can dance like fury all night and be willing to die 
in the morning,” interrupted the loquacious lady. “But 
it makes no difference, doctor, about your grumbling; 
this age is better than the one you admire. It is the 
custom there — in Germany, I mean — for a woman to be 
courted ten years, and to have volumes of sentiment 
written to her by her spoon of a lover, who com- 
mences in January by kissing her finger-tips, her hair, 
and her toes, and before July beats her with a broom- 
stick. Here comes old Kettle, who will tell you that 
is the time-honored custom to this day in the beloved 
fatherland.” 

The old housekeeper, who wore her best black silk 
dress, with a red’ bow, and her hair plaited smooth and 
shiny as a mirror, announced that a number of guests 


THE PROMISE KEPT AND BROKEN 


373 

had assembled in the parlor, and that there was no one 
to receive them. 

“Well, Caspar, you and Miss Linwood go in, and 
after I have seen that everything is arranged I will come, 
too,” said the doctor. “My memory fails me so much 
now, that I have to make a memorandum of everything. 
Let me see,” reading from a slip of paper, “musicians, 
pickles, ice-cream, carriages, and wine.” 

“Speaking of carriages, doctor, don’t forget the order 
now in which you go to the church. In the first one, 
you, Remita, Caspar, and Linwood. The next will con- 
tain, of course, the bridegroom, his friend. General 
Battledore, Quincy, and myself. As for the balance, 
first come, first served. Now I must go and see if Quincy 
is ready, and if he is, bring him over. Don’t com- 
mence to read Burgmiller when I am gone, but go into 
the parlor and entertain the guests. I hear old Leslie 
swearing at something.” And she pushed him through 
one door and disappeared herself through another. 

The parlor was ornamented with branches of ever- 
greens and garlands of flowers; while old-fashioned 
candlesticks and candelabras were filled with candles and 
lighted; and some of the doctor’s best pictures were hung 
up especially for this occasion. 

“ It would not be you if you didn’t select a night for 
your daughter’s wedding in which the chances are that 
we will all, before reaching the church, have to swim for 
our lives !” said Leslie to the doctor as he entered. 

“Oh, don’t be afraid,” said Ferris, the sculptor, as 
he pulled on a tight-fitting glove; “these summer and 
fall storms are violent, but they never last. We have 
three-quarters of an hour yet, and the chances are that it 
will all be over before that. Do you hear it howling, 
and knocking the signs and trees down?” 

32* 


374 


THE LOST MODEL. 


The continued arrival of the guests prevented the 
doctor from doing much more than bow and give the 
ordinary salutations. Many of the ladies were anxious to 
see Renata, and he had excused her on account of her 
fatigue ; and it was only when the bridegroom came 
that he hurried into the hall and called her name up the 
stairs. 

‘‘Did she answer you?” asked Caspar. 

“Yes, of course she did; down directly, or something 
of that sort. The wind is making such a fearful noise 
outside, and what with the pattering of the rain on the 
tin roof, you can scarcely hear anything else.” 

In the room, with its balcony facing the west, sat the 
bride, robed in white, her auburn hair clustering upon a 
forehead as white and firm as marble ; with her deep- 
tinted, transparent complexion, the small, pouting upper 
lip, and the dark-blue eyes, she presented a picture which 
Raphael might have equaled but not surpassed. She 
sat in front of a little desk, given to her when quite a 
child by Redwood, and in which she kept her little 
trinkets and remembrances. On this occasion she seemed 
to be searching for something ; for she passed over the 
pictures, jewelry, leaves, and other knickknacks with 
indifference, still looking for some relic of the past. At 
last she found it. It was only a pressed flower, which 
crumbled between her fingers as she touched it. And 
yet in this dry skeleton were hid a thousand suggestions. 
She saw a hill on a bright day in June, where she wan- 
dered like a child plucking flowers, and binding them 
into wreaths ; and beside her stood one watching, with 
that eager, upturned face, the swooping lines of an eagle, 
as it slowly fell upon the distant forest. As she turned 
the flattened, frail stem beneath her fingers and gazed 
vacantly upon the veins and faded colors of the leaves, a 


THE PROMISE KEPT AND BROKEN. 


375 


crowd of images passed through her mind which seemed 
to wring her very soul in anguish. She lived again the 
happy moments with Parthee : they roamed, played, 
laughed, and read together; she saw him as model, as 
sculptor, and as hunter; she heard over again his stories 
of other races and other times ; she saw the bright, intel- 
ligent eyes, and felt the warm breath of his caresses yet 
upon her cheek, when, as if unable to stand the dreadful 
returning tide of memory, she buried her face upon the bed 
and prayed for help, for strength, for the power to forget. 

There was no respite from the torture of her blind, 
passionate heart even in prayer, and like a wrestler who 
gathers up his strength for the last desperate throw, she 
arose hurriedly, caught up in her hand the brittle rem- 
nants of yesterday’s flowers, and, stepping to the window, 
prepared to cast them to the wind, when the balcony 
creaked as though beneath the tread of a man, and the 
window was thrown violently open, and from out the 
darkness and the lurid lightning she saw Parthee step. * 
He wore the same dress that he did when he left her 
upon the mound, he carried his rifle slung in the same 
way, and through the natural repose of his face struggled 
the well-known smile of other days. She did not cry or 
scream, but, throwing her arms around his neck and hiding 
her face upon his shoulder, she said, below her breath, 
Lieber Gott, thou wast right, after all!” After a few 
moments, she continued: ‘‘Parthee, at last you have 
come back ! Oh, if you knew what this poor girl has 
suffered for you I How she has yearned and prayed for 
you ! Had you known it, and had you been what you 
once said you were, you would have come to me like 
night comes. I saw the days pass, and to each one I 
said. When the morrow comes my lover will come, too ; 
and I have lived weeks, months, years, without you. I 




THE LOST MODEL. 


^ SO glad, and my eyes are so full, that I cannot see 
your face ; and my heart heats so strong that I am giddy. 
Db not speak to me yet, I have so much to tell you ; and 
the dreadful thunder roars so loud. And you are wet, 
too. Why did you come upon the balcony? How 
strange that you should come that way ! Sit down, I 
have so much to tell you. Do not look at me yet, until I 
tell you all. Come nearer, and listen. "Jbey told me 
that you were dead, lost ; worse yet, that you cared 
nothing for me ; they told me I must forget you ; they 
told it to me in the morning, at noon, and at night. They 
said you were an adventurer ; and they spoke of you with 
scorn. There was not one voice for you : father, Caspar, 
and even old Kettle was against you; only this blind, 
skeptical heart said constantly. He will come, he must 
come, he shall come back to thee ! Lean down your head, 
Parthee, I have a dreadful secret to telDyou. Listen; 
nearer, nearer, you cold boy you ! To-night I was to be 
married ! Hush ! father calls me. Oh, God ! We must 
not stay up here. You must have courage this time, Par- 
thee. Poor Denham ! The dreadful thunder roars so 
loud I cannot hear what you say. Let me think a 
moment. Truth is truth, after all. Put your arm around 
me, and we will go down together, where the guests are 
waiting, where the bridegroom stands, and poor Caspar is 
smiling upon his friend, and I will repeat the words of 
the Bible, and say, ‘ He that was lost isr found!’ It is a 
dreadful night, and yet better this than a hateful life. 
It is strange how hot my head seems. Come, Parthee, 
dear Parthee ; no more doubt, no more aching hearts, and 
nights without sleep ; you are here, and here you shall 
remain. You will be astonished at my courage. Father 
is calling again. Now bend your head towards me, one 
kiss, and then ” 


THE PROMISE KEPT AND BROKEN 


377 


That instant the little chamber was filled with a blindin^j^ 
and dazzling light, as though a bombshell had burst upon 
the floor; and the wind and rain, rushing through the 
balcony-window, blew down the pictures and shook the 
room until it seemed to rock. In the parlor, among the 
assembled guests, the bricks and plaster fell upon the 
floor as successive flashes of lightning passed from the 
roof to the cellar; and between the leaping claps of thun- 
der the terrified visitors heard the loud, ringing shriek of 
a woman. While the women hurried together in one 
corner of the parlor, the men, headed by Caspar, Denham, 
and the doctor, groped their way up the stairs, the former 
crying, “Renata! Renata! are you hurt?” No answer 
came from within, and after vainly trying to open the 
door, they burst it open with a great crash and went in. 
Denham and Caspar stooped to lift something from the 
floor ; but the doctor, gazing angrily at the open balcony- 
window, cried, “ Why, Renata, my child, come in this 
minute I Come in I And, Parthee ” 

“ Oh, father, father, look here !” cried Caspar. And he 
pulled the doctor from the window to the bed, where 
they had laid Renata. She wore her white bridal dress, 
and her hair still bore the flowers in its plaited folds ; her 
eyes were closed, and on her temple was a red and black 
stain like a burn, and the edge of her laced veil was 
smouldering with fire. They extinguished the fire, they 
chafed her hands and forehead, but the lingering warmth 
fled beneath their fingers ; and they looked on in wordless 
horror upon the beautiful face which still bore a rippling 
smile upon the lips, that death had surprised and frozen 
there forever. 

The guests were excluded from the room, and the 
physicians gathered around the bed, watched and worked 
to lure back the life to the beautiful temple, and one by 


378 


THE LOST MODEL. 


one left it in silence, and with the sense of the hopeless- 
ness of the task told in shrugs and sighs ! With pale faces 
and noiseless steps the friends of the family moved 
around, in the vain endeavor to find an elixir that could 
bring back the healthful glow to cheeks which had sud- 
denly become rigid marble masks. 

The doctor still sat in the centre of the room, gazing in 
a vacant manner from the bed, with its pale burden, to 
the balcony- window; and once begot up and stepped out 
upon the veranda. The storm had ceased, and the noise 
of the rushing waters was the only sound upon the streets. 
From the denser masses of clouds in the east came the 
faint rumble of the flying thunder, and at intervals stray 
arrows of lightning descended upon the neighboring 
hills. The doctor looked all around, searching for some 
corroborative traces of the vision that still perplexed his 
mind ; but he saw nothing but the glittering rain-drops, 
and here and there pieces of discolored leaves and rem- 
nants of what was once a flower. And he stepped back 
with a sigh to the group, who sobbed, cried, prayed, and 
struggled with the dreadful cal^ity which had made a 
victim of the beautiful bride. 

Outside, a crowd had gathered upon the sidewalk in 
front of the house, and they told in whispers what was 
published in the newspapers the next morning : how in the 
midst of a ravaging storm a flash of lightning had struck 
the house of Doctor Conrad Knappe, and had instantly 
killed his only daughter, who at that very moment stood 
arrayed in her bridal dress ready for the marriage altar. 

Three days later, as the doctor was explaining to Leslie, 
— who was on a visit of condolence, — for the twentieth 
time, the various incidents of the fatal night, he added, 
sotto-voce , — 


FIVE YEARS AFTER. 


379 


‘‘And do you know, Leslie, what I saw when I went 
into the room ? Now, I am not a believer in anything 
supernatural, nor in spirits, or anything of that kind. And 
yet, Leslie, as sure as you are standing there with your 
hat in your hand, I saw, right in the doorway of the open 
balcony, my poor girl side by side with Parthee ! Don’t 
shake your head and look at me in that incredulous man- 
ner, for I am telling you the plain, simple truth. Mind 
you, I don’t say he was there. I only' say that I saw him, 
and — yes, and as proof of it, Caspar says I called him three 
times ! You are *a man of practical sense : how do you 
explain it?” 

“ Me ! If I knew ! I would give a pretty penny myself, 
doctor, to have some things explained to me. No, no, I 
am a good deal more in the dark than you are.” And he 
went away shaking his head angrily at the enigma. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

FIVE YEARS AFTER. 

Dear Harry, — I came near, the other day, giving 
friendship a dreadful shock, that of forgetting one of your 
commissions ! After all the pains you had taken to instill 
and distill into nhis shallow pate of mine that a work of 
art is the only immortality worth living for, and that a 
collector with a rare and beautiful engraving is a greater 
personage than either of those fencing-masters, the Pope 
or Bismarck, I came within five minutes of passing Bosh- 
ville without stopping there to carry out those elaborate 
directions which covered four pages of a letter then in 


380 


THE LOST MODEL. 


my pocket. Fortunately for both of us, the trains don’t 
run through the city, and while inquiring of a hackman 
how many hundred dollars he would exact for taking me 
from one depot to the other, my conscience smote me, and 
I compromised by paying him five dollars to take me to 
the nearest hotel. And I determined that your instruc- 
tions and written requests should be as faithfully carried 
out as though they had been copied from the Federal Con- 
stitution. And that this is no small thing I have under- 
taken, you, who know my aversion to collectors in general, 
will surely appreciate. 

You see, my dear fellow, I don’t deny the general 
utility of these natural treasurers, but they are a dreadful 
race to come in contact with society. They always pull 
or allure you into talking about their specialty, and then 
they maltreat you for your ignorance of it. There was 
old Loghead, who for forty years had been making a 
catalogue of beetles, and when I, in a rash, unguarded 
moment, said a cricket was a beetle, he treated me with 
contempt forever after, and forbade his pretty daughter 
from talking to such a fool as he insisted I was. There 
is your botanical and genealogical collector, who goes 
through life with a hammer and a tin box, and who with 
a placid, wandering gait traverses the earth tapping and 
plucking specimens; your postal-stamp imbecility, who 
tears one corner of the envelope and pastes it in a book, 
while the letter lies unread upon the floor; your coin- 
collector, who holds beneath your nose a polished metal 
tribute to Caesar or Napoleon, and, when you reach 
forth your hand to touch, he calls your attention to a 
large placard with the words, *‘Eyes on and hands off,” 
and he tauntingly inquires if you read ; your autograph- 
collector, who knows the human race only as writers of 
letters, and who is indignant that great men did not all 


F/V£ YEARS AFTER. 


381 

write upon quarto paper and sign their names in full; 
and lastly comes your engraving-collector, but of this 
favorite weakness of yours I will say nothing malicious. 

And now, as the lawyer says, for the facts. I asked the 
supercilious embodiment of Philistinism, the hotel clerk 
(can you tell me why all hotel clerks are Philistines of the 
deepest dye ?), if he could give me the address of Dr. 
Conrad Knappe, the famous art-collector in the city. He 
repeated the name twice in a depreciating tone, and said 
he should think the name was Dutch, shook his head, then 
ran^to the window to look at a lady stepping out of a 
carriage. You see the bronze wall of this Philistine was 
impervious to art. I looked at the directory, copied down 
the street and number, and, with my letter in my hand, 
started to find your friend. 

A very pretty little woman with dark eyes opened the 
door of the house to me, upon which I had discovered the 
doctor’s sign. Yes, the doctor was in, but was, unfortu- 
nately, that moment engaged in a consultation in his office ; 
but if I would walk into the parlor, he would be disengaged 
in a short time, and then he would be glad to see me.” 

I was told this after I had announced that I was pro- 
vided with a letter from you, and that my visit was artistic. 
If I remember correctly, you once told me that he had 
no idea of time; and I am at the present moment willing 
to believe that the doctor was made without that “sub- 
jective condition of the mind, that inner window,” which 
Kant defines time to be. For I critically inspected every 
painting on the walls, — and there were certainly over fifty 
of them, little and large, — and had read half a volume of 
Kugler, before the door opened and the doctor entered. 

That he remembered you and was pleased with me — 
or rather that we were pleased with each other — you can 
deduce from one single fact, that it was eleven o’clock in 

33 


382 


THE LOST MODEL. 


the morning when I passed over his threshold, and it was 
nearly twelve at night when I left it; and then only upon 
a promise that I was to return the next morning at nine. 
His society is delightful, but, ye gods ! what a victim he 
is to the association of ideas ! He started at five o’clock 
in the evening to read me a letter from a brother col- 
lector living in Berlin, — it was not more than four pages 
quarto, — and yet when I left it was only half read. A 
word on the first page alluded to an old friend of his ; he 
stopped until he found this friend’s likeness, and told how 
long he knew him ; this suggested an episode in his 
daughter’s life, — he told that accurately and deliberately; 
this brought out the building of his new house, and he 
got out the plans and the bills; the latter made him re- 
member certain overcharges, and he gave a history and 
an explanation of each one, until my head fairly swims 
now with the wonderful concatenation of events which 
hung in his memory upon one word. 

Once only did he falter in his charming but discon- 
nected narrative, and that was when his eyes rested for a 
moment upon the portrait of his daughter, which hung 
opposite to him, and then he made a long pause. The 
picture had so taken my fancy, that I had been staring at 
it in admiration the whole evening. It was a counterpart 
of that fair, pouting, full-faced beauty which is known as 
Rubens’s daughter, and which is a solid and simple, but 
nevertheless exquisite, bud of female loveliness. This was 
the only hitch in the doctor’s volubility, and then a sigh 
got him over the difficulty, whatever it was. But enough 
for once, I am tired; to-morrow we have laid out the day 
together, in which his collection and all the other lions 
of Boshville are to be inspected ; and then, old fellow, I 
will satisfy your curiosity much better than I can at 
present. 


FIVE YEARS AFTER. 


383 


Saturday. 

Well, I have seen them all : Denham, Caspar, Leslie, 
Ferris, the archbishop, the hill with the pines, the 
statue, and the hundred ‘‘Guilder” sheet. Where shall 
I commence? Shall I imitate our mutual friend, and 
put the whole of them in one sentence, and let you 
unravel it for yourself? I think I stated in my former 
letter that our friend had no sense of time j I am ready 
to prove that he is equally deficient in the idea of 
space. But that is a matter for future discussion ; at 
present I will simply give in silhouettes what I saw and 
heard. And if I should chance to be either prolix or 
inconsequential, you can fancy it is the doctor himself 
who speaks and writes. 

Our first visit was to the cathedral, to see the group by 
Ferris, which occupies a portion of the communion-space. 
The details, that is to say, the heads of both figures, are 
very beautiful, and of a decidedly noble type ; I recog- 
nized the face of the girl as that of the portrait in the old 
doctor’s studio. The head of the angel is also remarkable 
in its originality, and there was an expression upon the 
face which puzzles me now as I think of it ; as regards 
the effect of the whole, it struck me as being weak. Do 
you know I am not an admirer of what is called Christian 
art ? — that is to say, a statue, picture, poem, or play which 
is made to point a moral or to inculcate a lesson. Ethics 
is one thing, beauty is another. 

When Mrs. Stowe undertook to stop the circulation of 
Byron’s poems because the latter was not a celibate, she 
was unwittingly imitating the farmer in Schiller’s poem, 
who, when Pegasus scorned to draw the plow, treated it 
as a sin to be punished by starvation and the whip. If 
Dame Nature had a Jesuit or a Blue-light Presbyterian for 
a tutor and guide, what a race of turnips we would be ! 


384 


THE LOST MODEL. 


So that, in a word, while I admired the individual figures, 
the grouping was not appreciated. 

In regard to its owner, the venerable ecclesiastic, what 
an instance he is of the number of years a man may 
journey through life who practices abstinence, continence, 
temperance, and the other negations ! He told me he was 
eighty, and he looks good for another eighty years. 

Denham is a judge of the Common Pleas. The people 
remembered his services in the war, and had. just elected 
him to that office, although he- was almost the youngest 
lawyer at the bar. 

They have an idea here, however, that the best place 
for a young man to learn the law is on the bench. I had 
a momentary glimpse of him. He is the oldest-looking 
young man I ever saw. His hair is already turning gray ; 
and upon his composed features there was a constant ex- 
pression of pain. I saw him turn his head wearily away 
as the witness, edged on by the attorney, told the rough- 
and-tumble sort of life led by the applicant for a divorce; 
and his eyes lingered gratefully upon the scraps of green 
and rays of sunlight outside the court-house windows. 

“Poor Denham!” muttered the doctor, as we left the 
court-room, and another painful hitch occurred in the 
good doctor’s conversation. 

Leslie, who, by the by, is a very good specimen of 
the Western man, we found taking his ease with a cigar. 
He said little except when I told him I was from Boston, 
and then he said he hated Boston, the people there always 
put on so many airs. I am inclined to think that cold 
lobster-salad was just then troubling the old gentleman’s 
digestive powers, and was using up his amiability. 

Maple, Theophilus Maple, the black-eyed preacher, was 
being tried by a council of church dignitaries for some 
violation of discipline and good behavior. What the 


FIVE YEARS AFTER. 


385 


charge was I did not learn. There was a woman in the 
case. What his judges will say I can’t tell; but the 
women of his congregation were gathered about him in 
great force, and have already made up their minds to his 
innocence. Dear creatures ! the stronger the evidence 
against him, the closer they shut their pretty eyes and 
mouths ; and I am inclined to think they are indignant at 
being supposed capable of preferring the testimony of 
witnesses to their own solemn and earnest feelings. That 
thing does not exist in the female character. So that 
whatever the verdict may be. Maple is safe, so far as the 
majority of his congregation is concerned. 

The last evening I spent with the doctor, his son Cas- 
par, and his pretty wife, who was formerly a Miss Lin- 
wood. And what a charming evening it was ! Seated at 
his table with a large portfolio before him, he would 
take out a mutilated remnant of Mantegna, or an etching 
of Rembrandt, and, handling them with the greatest 
tenderness and care, he would look at them with the ad- 
miring fondness of an old miser contemplating a thousand- 
dollar bond or a bank-note. Now and then a fly would 
swoop over the precious sheet, and attempt to butt his 
head through it, or crawl over it, and the doctor would 
wave his handkerchief at it, zealous, and yet at the same 
time very careful not to injure the fly or the etching. 
Near him sat the pretty daughter-in-law, and read the in- 
scription upon the bottom, the references to Bartch, which 
some previous collector had written in pencil on the back, 
and also help the doctor in explaining the meaning of the 
subject. 

Caspar was writing and copying some sheets for the 
doctor’s new catalogue, which was shortly to appear, and 
occasionally giving the pedigree of the work under ex- 
amination. 


34 


386 


THE LOST MODEL. 


I found your friend very communicative about every 
event in his life except one, and that was the sudden death 
of his beautiful and only daughter. And whenever a cir- 
cumstance drew him in the neighborhood of that painful 
catastrophe, he became silent, and stared with clouded 
features upon the vacant air. 

I see him with the shades of night falling around him, 
knowing nothing and caring less for the currency question ; 
ignorant of the difference between the Democratic and the 
Republican party ; having a very confused notion of what 
passes upon ’change or in the stock-market ; never reading 
the newspapers, because he has no time; incapable of 
telling you how many States there are in the Union, and 
yet as ready and accurate as an encyclopaedia upon the 
works of Raphael and Michael Angelo ; with a contempt 
for fashion, and a disdain for money, and yet as ubiquitous 
as a politician, and as obsequious as an office-hunter, to 
everything pertaining to art. And I am inclined to think 
that he will find heaven a dull place, unless it contains a 
picture-gallery, or at least a Dresden collection of prints. 

For the rest, your Boshvillians share the common lot : 
they eat, drink, make money, marry, and die. 

Yours as ever. 


THE END. 


73 8 I 
















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